The Matriarch


The ancient oak shelters the baby birds in her heights, amidst the soft sighing leaves.
The chirping is as music to her timeless soul.
In her crook, a heart wounded child is snugged to her aged bosom, leaking tears and absorbing her nurturing timelessness.
Rooting thru the recycle of her life, the squirrel seeks the food she scatters for him and she is content like a grandmother kneading dough.
Burrowed beneath her gnarled twisted roots she shelters a timid rabbit and kits, spooked by the soft but haunting hoo hoo from swaying branches above.
At her base a snail nibbles at the fungi growing in her rich soil. A tiny kit is mesmerized by the strange creatures slowly searching antennas.
The night is sweetly warm and violet, perfumed by the moist earth, the growing things. The gentle rustling of leaves, a chirrup, a hoo at times a scream to break the night. All comprise the symbiotic orchestra of life. Conducted by the elder, the crone, the mother, the protector, the Matriarch. She is life.

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