The Weaving

we have forgotten where we came from

we have forgotten how to be wild; and how to be still

to breathe in the air

to speak to the earth

to dance in the first light

the spider doesn’t see her web as we do; she sees only a thread, attached to a thread, attached to a thread

weaving together the pieces

trusting that the bigger thing will come to be

open your eyes

the blossoms are only here for a heartbeat each year

and the spider’s web will be gone by nightfall