Roots That Rise
A reflection on stillness, growth, and expansion.
This morning,
I sit.
Beneath my ancient Oak,
As I do most days
When weather and bones
Allow me that freedom.
I sit.
Grounding.
I try not to think,
Backing into my
Meditations.
A slow surrender
I’m willing to take.
My spine bole.
My heart pith.
And, as I try and still
My three active eyes
Open or closed.
I sit.
Memories abandon
Like fallen leaves.
I can sometimes quiet
The images.
But never the colors.
Unwittingly, I drift
In hypnotic harmony.
The wind moves around me.
The wind moves me.
Perspectives expand, then
For just a moment
My senses root.
Neutralized, as if
Tricked into stillness.
My limbs unfurled.
My fingers sprouting,
Reaching.
I wasn't even aware
Until I was.
I am.
In stillness, I grow.
So, I sit.
About the Creator
Stephanie Crain
I write like I live—inside the liminal spaces of possibility. I embrace the mundane and the chaotic. As a poet, storyteller, and creative provocateur, it all comes alive through my words. Expect to feel. Expect to think. Expect to stay.
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