Gift of a Pebble
Her swells curl.jpg)
the wind and
lap my skin.
Her holy water
soaks my hands
holding egg-shaped stones.
I collect and return
these pebbles
because I want to be like them,
to touch her wisdom
and violent creations,
to know her power quietly.
Water sings This is where Spirit speaks.
Broken sticks from trees
once thriving by this timeless lake
rest near my feet.
Words like stones are worn smooth.
