Rituals
Rituals
in the summer rain
we dance like silk winged mayflies
our skirts bright with water
the fields ripen
the soft dunes hiss
with the scraping of bone fragments
ancients are sleeping
on pillows of wind.
.
in the summer rain
our feet move on the soft earth
leaving paths of laughter
the crops reach up.
the grandmothers
traced coloured scraps of wool
through their weaving
to save our stories.
in the summer rain
our hands reach beyond the horizon
we touch the gods
to thank them for life.
Copyright © Patricia Cresswell | Year Posted 2017
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