Roots That Rise

This morning,

I sit.

Beneath my ancient Oak,

As I do most days

When weather and bones

Allow me that freedom.

I sit.

Grounding.

I try not to think,

Backing into my

Meditations.

A slow surrender

I’m willing to take.

My spine bole.

My heart pith.

And, as I try and still

My three active eyes

Open or closed.

I sit.

Memories abandon

Like fallen leaves.

I can sometimes quiet

The images.

But never the colors.

Unwittingly, I drift

In hypnotic harmony.

The wind moves around me.

The wind moves me.

Perspectives expand, then

For just a moment

My senses root.

Neutralized, as if

Tricked into stillness.

My limbs unfurled.

My fingers sprouting,

Reaching.

I wasn't even aware

Until I was.

I am.

In stillness, I grow.

So, I sit.