Do You Know Me

We seek them, those people who seem so familiar upon introduction that our coupling has no awkwardness.  It's as if we had simply been separated across time and knew that our moment to reunite would undoubtedly arrive.

Our conversations are a tangled mass of weeds...fast growing, riotous, random and yet, there is form to the madness.  Because our psyches have reconnected, the outcrop of union appears haphazard but like weeds, a purpose evolves.

We need to understand that weeds serve a purpose. That purpose isn’t to cost farmers more money or increase the amount of gray hair on our heads. It isn’t to keep us up at night. Mother Nature has a more practical purpose in mind, and that is simple ground cover. Exposed soil erodes from water and wind. That’s why after some calamity strips the soil clear of residue, weeds are often the first plants to grow back. Like nature’s own cover crops, they are holding precious topsoil in place.  Curt Arens

My own connection to our dear Earth urges me to continue planting in my fields of life.  Circumstance has caused them to lie fallow for a while now...stripped bare of those carefully tended gardens that I pruned and petted into perfection.  But perfection left them vulnerable and far too fragile for my future needs.  Nature knows this and regardless of my own desires, takes control of the weather of discontent and scours those fields down to the naked soil.

I can remember my grandfather and father burning fields down to the bare ground.  Bright green shoots  reappeared and were more vibrant because the sun had been allowed to touch them, free of the heaviness of overgrowth....


Do You Know Me?


Down to the ground,
My life is down to the ground,
Storms toss my soul, my soil
With devil winds of discontent.

Fallow, empty and exposed
I feel every droplet of rain
Boring into my depths
Creating pain.

It's a muddy mess for anyone
Who walks my field.
Their feet become weighted
With my clay, my soul, my soil.

How can one ask another to
Walk these fields?
Entreaty, open hand, outstretched
Do You Know Me?

And yet, hope prevails.
A pathway through the slog opens.
The field dries, the mud dissipates
And bright green shoots grow quickly

In the sun....
Weeds racing along the path
In riotous growth, covering, protecting
Serving their purpose...beauty unparalleled.