Genus loci

I went to a magical spot on the river yesterday. There is a genus loci here, a special place on the earth. So I hobbled slowly along the path to sit and listen and look.

I sat on a bowed bough, under ancient triumvirate of oak, willow and alder and listened to the soft water rush, flowing by. 

I told it my woes and wishes, to buoy them far out in the world and set them sparkling blue ocean free. 

I let the exuberant greens wrap around me, holding, healing, old medicine, good medicine.

Birds sang us their melodious songs, of nests and new life, fiery sunrises and calm star washed nights. A warm wind, scented with land travels, swirled everything in a dance as old as time, all steps known, performed precisely.

And bright was the sun, gold glittering on indigo damsel wings. Particle kisses on my face, from a universal fire so distant yet so hot. 

This is what I am here to see, my place in the universe, my belonging. Belonging to the land and she to I.