Bones and Songs

I stood yesterday on sacred ground. Out in the cold, with my hand resting on the bones of Mother Earth, I stood and I hummed a little song. The words were simple, but that wasn't the point. What I felt, for a moment there, was connection. I took my hand away, and brushed off the grains of sand that had been left behind, and I felt a little sadness at that, because the sand was a gift of a sort, a present to remind me that no matter where I go, the Earth is always there with me.

I hiked for a while after that, down into two different canyons, and I came away with tired eyes, stiff fingers, swollen feet, and almost three hundred photographs. When I got back to the car I took my hat off, and as I removed it, grains of sand fell down at my feet. I must have brushed my head, for a moment on a wall as I went past, and my mother was clinging to me, on my hands, on my head, and under my feet. The shower of grit made me smile. Truly, no matter where I go, my Mother is with me.

Today, in my pocket, I am carrying two tumbled gemstones. One, a piece of amethyst, the other, quartz. Both are reminders. Both are memories. Both of them make my heart sing, and both of them carry me home.