Home Schooled by Mother

When I was a child, I rested my chin on a smooth flat stone, warmed by the sun, and I became part of the tall grass zoo.

I was held in the strong arms of the maple trees and the leaves taught me how to turn my face to the sun.

I ate cherries, apples, pears, rhubarb, plums, grapes washed only by the rain
and the fruit and the rain and I were the same.

I lay flat on my back in the grass and watched the stars and the fireflies and I began to glow and twinkle.

Eagles taught me to soar over the river by becoming unseen therms.

Beneath skirt of the tall spruce tree I sat on a carpet of flat brown needles during a gentle rain and I became the smell of pine.

I buried my face in lilacs - purple, violet, white - and learned to giggle with their soft power.

I sat hugging my knees in an open field in rain that stung while green and white lightening pulled at my skin and thunder shook my chest.  I knew.

There is no such thing as death. 
Nothing left to fear. 
I won't return to the Earth. 
I'm already here.