I used to see a ring of rocks.
A big old bunch of boulders.
Some stepping stones perhaps.
I see that
A circle of grandfathers have gathered in my creek.
They rolled in without a sound.
They sit together quietly, inviting me to stop and rest.
Their strong backs hold me securely
As the water rushes past.
Tickled by slippery green algae
They remain solemn.
Scratched and dirtied by floating seeds and grey twigs
They are unconcerned.
A silent conference
A safe circle of grandfathers
A calm small place
(Thanks to Rob, Robyn, Anne and my students for helping me to learn a little about grandfathers and for opening my eyes to a different world view, one moment at a time.)
©Conni Cartlidge, 2012