Under the dirt and the dust lies the bones. Below the surface are sinews and muscle, eyes and rust.
The trees after the rain, show a picture much different than before it began.
Faces and animals appear as if by magic. It was there all along; invisible, it’s tragic.
The twisted beauty of wisdom and time hidden by things shiny and new.
Their absence would devastate the landscape lay it barren and blue.
The trees grow plump, get bent and distorted, covered in lines with bumps and veins and limbs contorted.
The colors they fade, and the leaves may tumble yet they are home to the birds, the squirrels, provide shade and air and absorb what is toxic.
The ultimate Alchemists.
We pass them daily hardly notice they exist, take them for granted overlook and dismiss.
They hold space for us all, breathe life into the city, live everywhere;
still invisible, what a pity.
I am the bones; I see them in others. Revealed by the rain, awareness and mothers. The sun will set soon enough but while we are here, we contribute more than enough. You see we are old women that live day by day; invisible, discarded, left out of the fray.
Next time it rains go look at the trees, look at us all with new eyes and see the faces the animals and more. Take your time its urgent, we all deserve it;
to be seen, heard and honored - it’s just dirt and dust;
without us the world would be lonely, depressed and unjust.
