Heathen

As a child, I heard my grandfather whisper to me through the wind.

I felt my mother's kiss on the gentle blades of grass.

I heard my grandmother singing in the ripples of the stream.

I heard my father's laugh, in thunder from the storm.

As a young woman, I heard my children's songs in the birds that flew above me.

I smelled my mother's sweet breath, from the flower at my feet.

I felt my father's arms about me from the sun's strong rays.

I felt my grandfather's love, in the air that caressed my cheeks.

As an old woman, I heard the laughter of my grandchildren, in each pebble thrown into the pond.

I saw my mother's breasts in the hills around me and long to hear her heartbeat once more.

I saw the twinkle of my father's eyes in each moonlit night.

I felt my ancestors' presence in each tiny movement of the wind.

As I lay to die, I remember my life and those who have given me cause to live.

And in each moment, I felt Creator's gifts of love, humility, peace, and even pain.

For every moment, I gave thanks.

And as I cross, one thing confounds me yet...

For these things in my life, I am called "heathen."

2003

Copyright 2003-2008 CZF

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