(Featured image credit: laffertyryan, used under CC BY 2.0)
Evening enfolds Her stillness
In a calm, dark mantle.
The Mystery is in my nostrils,
Thick in my mouth.
I can touch it.
It is breath on my skin
And fragrance.
It is rivers of tears on my face.
It is Being
And becoming.
Morning breaks.
As hushed, as new,
As divine,
As dew-washed
As the first morning.
Mist fills the valleys
Clinging
To every blade of grass
Every leaf,
Leaving bright, shining jewels
In spiders’ webs.
Late morning storms
Sweep the ridges
In wild, terrible splendour.
The air is thick
With spirits.
And mist curls again
Down the slopes
Into hidden places
Like a cat
Licking her kittens.
Leave quietly.
You have touched heaven.
DO NOT HUMBLE THE MOUNTAIN.
DO NOT BUILD ROADSINTO SACRED PLACES.
__
Mary de La Valette ’89
