It’s In My Bones

The smell of sage and it’s cleansing breath, sacred smoke.
It’s in my bones.
Ponderosa pine reaching it’s branches up to heaven
in offering, faint scent of vanilla lingering.
It’s in my bones.
Rushing river in spring thaw
icy, crisp, refreshing, purging the earth.
It’s in my bones.
Soil is cracked, scorched, shriveled
like scattered ashes at the pire.
It’s in my bones.
Gentle cool breeze caressing my cheek
still in winter’s grasp.
It’s in my bones.
Warm rays penetrating, cradling
feeding the soul.
It’s in my bones.
Kneeling, giving puja to the earth
massaging clay like bread dough.
Giving thanks for all that is.
It’s in my bones.

~ Kathy Albers