Of the Earth
I am made of mud,
brown flakes dried to my boots,
sand clinging to my toes,
dirt tracks left behind wherever I go.
I am made of the sun,
a burn turned to dark lines on my feet,
freckles on my nose,
fresh golden streaks in my hair.
I am made of trees, water and rocks,
a scratch on my arm from the juniper,
a bruise on my shoulder from a sip at the creek,
scrapes on my knee from a collision with the mesa.
I am made of the sky,
eyes bright from long nights spent under the moon,
cheeks aglow from wishing upon stars,
smile full from hours spent dancing with the northern lights.
I am made of the earth,
a sigh for every walk spent with a deer,
a secret for every whisper shared with the ocean,
and a heart full from days spent picking flowers in meadows,
nibbling on berries, wandering mountain ridges,
chasing rainbows, and, simply, just being.