winter

the hills, we once knew,

were sacred ~ 

they spoke to us in feathered winds

and

granite graces, we

gave them holy bundles

in exchange 

for living

among them.

today, we

have forgotten

the holy, the

Mother, the

Sun rising Silent

beneath barren willow

and oak, we

turned our backs

to the holy, and wondered why

the heart still holds to

Sunshine ~