I never really bought into
the mythical “falling” into love.

I believe in
the mystical “rising” into love.

The fairy dust of
ancestral work.

The initial dopamine seed hooks into dirt.
The slow growth of oxytocin filled fibrous roots.
Beauty grows, oxygen rises in the breath of

The never-ending kiss of Heaven and Earth.
We unfold all of who we are in the
presence of another;

Commitment.
Accepted fully, not enmeshed.
Just as the weeping

willow admires the
sequoia.
From here the taproot

grabs hold
deep, grounded.
Commits to the

forest ecosystem.
Surrenders to the
laws of nature.

Each species
reflecting permission to the other.
Canopies reach into the sky, to see the

world from the above, to
find the blue above the
earthly-story clouds.

Eventually, each reaches
the heavens or, perhaps,
distant galaxies.

The fairy dust falls, again.
The work of the ancestors continues.

__

Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash