A Place to Breathe

Off the path,

behind some trees,

a clearing sits

and waits for me.

A forest symphony,

a place for finding tohi.

Here

I can simply be    simply breathe,

find a way

back to me.

Those hateful words,

that awful silence

recedes in waves

until it’s quiet.

The clouds drift by  the sun softens  leaves whisper comforting words

   a language maybe I used to know.

“Wado, detlugv,” I thank the trees.

Next the grass, the bees.

“Wado, ganolvvsgv,”

gratitude for wind, for breezes.

“Wado, unelvnvhi,”

gratitude in a whisper to Creator

for feeling wrapped in that precious, neverending ancestor love

for this world, this clearing, this moment.

A twig snaps

Two pairs of eyes

watch me, watching them.

A doe and her fawn

hover on the edge of the small clearing.

They take me in,

weigh my soul–

then stay,

nibbling at a bush.

They feel safe.

So do I.

That’s when I know

we’ll be alright.

 

Christine Hartman Derr is a citizen of the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma. She holds a Master of Fine Arts in Writing for Children & Young Adults from the Vermont College of Fine Arts. She runs the website PawPrintsInTheSink.com and is a contributor to an upcoming YA anthology from Heartdrum.

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This resource is no cost at https://open.library.okstate.edu/justya/