On the wind they ride!
From the quiet still places come the blessings of my old people.
Many familiar faces. Mother, Father, Grandparents too.
Spirit souls from other places, no longer clothed in the skins familiar to my view.
They play upon the winds like falling leaves or an untethered soft downy feather, riding on the breeze.
They ride in on the storm clouds passing by, flow upon the breezes.
They whisper gently in my ear, stroke softly on my skin.
Come they do, with no judgement or agenda.
They visit just to let me know that they are close, never far away.
They present when I choose to pause, stop long enough to call them in.
From the stillness they gather, drawing near to pluck my heartstrings.
A mist gathers over my eyes, tears forming of memories past.
My now awareness that their life, like mine would someday fade and pass.
Sadness, regrets, guilt torn shadows creep in like winter fog,
Opportunities missed, no longer can be met.
Of unspoken words from me to they, to open outwardly, to say
‘I love you, thank you’ for your guidance of me as your much loved son!
Poem by Ross
Root Cores 