Spruce Roots

One summer, we went out into the forests at the bottom of the mountain.

The birch trees stood silently and watched us while we climbed into the soft forest bed.

The golden rays of the sun seeped through the tree branches and kissed our silhouettes as we danced among the moss.

We buried ourselves in the cool, earthy cushions as we dug deeper into them, looking for long spruce roots to weave our dreams with.

The spruce roots would tie our whispered wishes together, and heal the hurt we once endured.

The damp earth takes us in, shielding us from institutional harm.

This reminds me that I have an obligation to do right by her.

I have to protect her

So my children may dance upon her moss beds,

hug her trees, climb her mountains, swim her shores,

braid her hair, lay upon her cedar, and pray to the Creator.

I have to protect her so my grandchildren can feel whole when they step on my homelands, dig their earthtly brown hands into the roots of the hurt, and reclaim themselves.

I have to protect her for my ancestors, who sent me here and guide me as I stumble like a toddler through creation. They leave me with one message;

Mother Earth is sacred,

I must help protect her,

If not for me, then for my community.