The sun scorches us
The wind dries us
We only notice on the edges
of our work and our wonder
The brambles trip and prick us,
Some insects bite —
We carry all these things
with a nascent understanding
of how we are owned by this land
and how our love emerges
as we are eroded,
how in this weathering
we become capable,
in this honing
we become something different —
More of the earth, less of the city,
closer to both the land and the sky.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 3, 2015
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