1.it is a long journeyfrom dust to dustbecoming and becominguntil we areno more 2.today i sort the woolrank with goatand dirt of living –hook out the bristle thorn,lucerne stalks and seed debris –air it on the table in the sun.sinking fingers intosun warm fleeceto say the prayers of thanks because how can this not be…
i carried the dust of that place on my feet, walked it here with thanks for the journey and stood long-shadowed in the dew wet grass. stood while the walking settled to stillness and the trees, popping bergwind seeds, cackled here – you are home, you are home.