It was still in the time of ancient things when a girl would walk out into the forest and go searching for her song. She was told by her grandmother to find a tree that whispered in a voice she remembered.
She would walk to that tree. Kneel down beside it, and she would knock on its trunk. 3 times.
Then, she would listen.
For some time, she would sit.
The question would come to her.
To the tree, she would ask the question, whispering.
The leaves would rustle.
The birds would get quiet.
The deer would wait, and stand, alert.
A hawk or an owl would cut open the sky, and call to her.
She would feel the rhythm of a dragonfly nearby humming.
Her song would then sing itself into her heart, and she would know how she belonged to herself and the earth.
Headshot: Mina Habibi. Article Photo: Valeriy Andrushko.
Humbled by Tumbles
I See
I am a good mother
