Day 33: Camp fire cooking

This is the time of their lives

when the business of growing up,

of thriving and forging ahead

is straightforward,

blessed

The fear grips

in my mind as I watch them

I see

their future is suddenly

unsure

although I have known that deep within

for some time

An eight year old wouldn’t think much is different

how could she?

She lives in and swims in the amniotic fluid of

childhood innocence;

Now is It and so it should be

and the birthing sac has yet to be ruptured

The elder sister

well,

her world was torn asunder last year,

we worked hard to stitch her wounded future self

back together, so that

her eyes did not always see

darkly

“Climate anxiety” came to roost here

she was beaten

bereft

swallowed by the ground with her sorrow buried deep within

the Earth kept her in darkness

while beautiful, wise, loving human souls

brought her back from the depth of somewhere I could not reach

to somewhere brave

and true

So now, these sisters sit side by side

swinging on a hammock and

eating campfire-cooked tea

and they laugh at the fun

like young kids should

I observe,

thinking grateful thoughts for those who helped

stitch by stitch

to heal my daughter and

I wait

for this next wave,

Coronawave

to rupture the sac.

but not yet

not yet

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