The Journey

The Journey

What Testimony is there to give truth to my existence.  Where is there proof of the mark I lay upon my journey, to be remembered by those who wish to know me.

Interpretations of stories passed down and images studied give partial witness to the entirety of who I am. 

If you wish to know, see,  hear and feel me; search  for me in the music you hear and the flowers you see. 

I linger near the laughter of children,

And always in the embrace of my family.

The gentle breeze that softly rustles through leaves high in a tree,

will find me outstretched on large sturdy limbs, pondering. 

I am the quest in dark soft nights that reveal heavenly lights and early streaks of dawn's glory.

I am in the soft movement, on pillows of air and quiet industry of colorful;

delicate wings that seek nourishment in rhythms of perfect harmony. 

Heart sharing tears and laughter of friends and foe are my banner, with ornaments of love, joy and peace.

Look not in wooden chests for medals and treasures.  Look to my beloved who shares my days and nights, joys and sorrows. 

Great battles were fought back to back, wielding the sword of the Spirit and fire of the Holy One.

Count my wealth by each hair and bone, fashioned by the creator to be masterpieces of my lineage.  My coffer is full: my joy is overflowing. 

Forests on glacial landscapes with crisp air and nips of cold;

Gentle hills full of color and pageantry;

Rugged shorelines, bold and hungry for all it touches;

Warm, wet sandy loam under canopies of sycamore that have trunks carved with names long gone but bearing the truth of their existence, are the promenade of my wandering. 

I sojourn in deep arches of hair flowing in the wind that produce heart swelling laughter with legs out stretched to reach the highest pinnacle; In Patches of berries and thorns laden with fruit and unfriendly hitchhikers;  Among the dance and loud calling of winged mating, followed by careful preparation of nature's birthing place.

I will meet you there to share a moment, until you cross the great River on the path to the ancient of ancients.

Elaine Abbott