By Julie MacAdam
I wonder if the wind feels resistance when it blows,
If raindrops are afraid to merge with the flows of rivers and seas no longer being just their own.
I wonder if the sun realizes the brightness of its light and if it wishes to become dark.
I wonder if the dark side of the day accepts itself in all of its ways,
If tornadoes feel shame for how they spin out in different directions.
I wonder if trees consider themselves too big or too small, wishing that they were their neighbor.
And if the moon reflects on how it affects others,
If animals consider their actions before they happen,
If the earth herself wishes she were more square and less round,
And if she contemplates withholding her abundance for the sake of herself.
I wonder if soil thinks of its companions,
If rocks know their strength,
If fire sees how much it can consume and transform.
I wonder if plants become scared in thunderstorms,
Or if they have faith in their dying back and being reborn.
I wonder if seasons think about cycles and rhythmic routines,
If pollution sees solutions to becoming clean.
I wonder if avalanches dwell on problems,
If mountains feel the weight of snow,
And if snow fears melting and letting go.
By Julie MacAdam
Her love is like an underground network of mycelium stretching for miles in all directions emerging as a ripened fruit that nourishes and heals,
Her voice like familiar door handles that can both unlock and lock a house full of rooms,
Her ways of care like a lighthouse among rocks that turns on at the perfect time and being far off in the distance is still so easily seen,
Her hair thin like petals of cosmos, like the silk of a spiders web delicately waving in the breeze,
Her eyes blue like the sky at dusk with a soft hue endless and open,
Her smile like a crescent moon turned on its side illuminating the darkest of dark nights and waxing,
Her shoulders like cotyledon leaves, the first to show support for growth,
Her arms, each one, like a pair of woolen gloves that protect and provide warmth,
Her hands like rain buckets that catch whatever falls with ease,
Her breasts like gallons of fresh raw milk and the sacredness of the holy cow alike,
Her belly soft like emerald moss that receives my shape and form and collects my moistened tears,
Her back like a forest floor whose terrain is neither flat nor smooth rather teeming with life,
Her legs like pillars of a great colosseum, strong enough to hold up whatever comes her way,
Her feet like seashells and stones on the shore of a deep vast ocean,
Her toes like those stones that turn into pebbles with each wave crashing,
Her features changing like an hourglass having just been flipped, tracking time in grains of sand,
My mother, she is like all seasons,
When in full bloom and vibrant she is like summer, radiant as the midday sun,
When letting go of her young she is like autumn as leaves release back to the maker,
When she holds steady those she loves she is like winter’s snow still and right there,
As she changes she is like a new spring with flowers soon to follow.
She could be anything, she is everything.
Julie MacAdam is a Yoga teacher, writer, herbalist, and educator with a passion for conscious learning. For more information you can visit www.myamountain.com.