It happened. One day I woke up and I noticed the chirping of the birds, I saw that neon yellow butterfly and the ants, awoken from their winter sleep, running around. The long call of the raven. The deep rumble of the forest dark.
The squirrel who lives in the pine just outside my working window stood still for a moment as to say something about time. The current in the creek sang of velocity. The embers in the fire whispered about intensity. It just happened. It DAWNED on me.
I cannot produce a coherent narrative about it, not yet, but then I begun to write the one thing I have never been able to write about, the one thing that has no language, the one thing that has defined me more than anything.
It just happened.
I find words in the wordless. I found language deep, deep layered into the world and under my feet.
– and I have no fear-
(I will ride into battle from now on head high) (I have changed)
Maybe it was here. Down by the creek.
Where we go to drink the water
Or maybe it was while overlooking the land and noticing how the snow has pressed it flat, all of the weight it has carried and the land moaned and the land rejoiced in the sun.
We removed all of the hugelkultur beds and begun to ready it for a different approach
(plus building a greenhouse, rebuilding the barn, welcoming the first of the summerguest, the accommodations, working hard, body aches, drinking oceans of birch sap, lots of food, feeling torn but not too torn to tell)
The land lets us. Maybe it is because the land lets us.
Maybe I am like a tree, my tentacles touch, maybe the whole forest is vibrant and connected, speaking to itself, in the underground, under my feet, maybe my feet sink into the ground, maybe it´s all weird like that.
Or maybe it was the moment when my son kissed my daughter and I realized that it is true. We are the rebels.
(and I found peace with that)
Maybe it dawned on me when my youngest lit his first fire all by himself
Or when I noticed the inscriptions
Maybe it happens every year but then maybe I just forget.