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Mama Had Hair of Silver-Green Leaves

"You always do this funny sigh" (my daughter knows me well), "like you're inhaling the very leaves from every single tree”. Soul-nurturing osmosis of life-gifting symbiosis, all-consuming comfort through my entire being.

As I stand here mothered, embraced by my kin, breathing dendrophiliac dopamine, I begin to root, to belong, to hear the community of my

elusive ancestry through Earth's alluring song.

Raised rootless The Tumbleweed Girl,

a waif with mycelium veins, singing sorrowful cords as mud pies were forged in torrential rain.

She offered the nutrition of family.

Willow psithurism awoke a fresh world that made sense, beyond splintering pretence of blood and meaning, my small world gleaning context of a family tree.

I am safe, I am nurtured, I am protected, and loved.

There can be no rationale for the intense silent howling of this peace.

I am home.

Four families,

three names,

eighteen buildings,

so much change,

but finally




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