Listen to what they tell you,
for they are wise
in the ways of mist and cedar,
learned of folding mantle
crust fractures
jutting skyward.
Monuments to a hundred million years
of labour pains.
Stop.
Just stop talking.
Stop cutting.
Stop grinding.
Stop burning
and hear with a child’s mind
new first lessons,
for your teacher
is your father
and your mother
and your charge;
that you would steward over
fern and beast and fish and bough.
Always the recalcitrant,
a poor student.
So now, listen
to the catechism
of falling rain beating,
running into dirt,
feeding seedlings,
blossoming into new ideas.
Bursts of color
that are thoughts,
birthed on mountain sides
by newborns
and madmen.
Hear life living,
for to be
you must learn to acknowledge existence.
Never let these rain drops
fall to mountain tops
and deaf ears.
HG – 2016
Beautiful.