earth medicine mothering Apr 30, 2019

I tell my son he has dinosaurs in his backyard.

Sparks burst within his eyes, momentarily,


Until I reveal that these dinosaurs are the

trio of redwoods

that greet us with rusty lustre.

That these gorgeous woody elephants are

the great-greats of some long-ago tree fossils.

He just shrugs and runs off.


I tell my son he breathes dinosaur breath,

That these very same argon molecules

(quiet drifters / petulant loafers)

have been recycled, moved around, tumbled about

nauseously, ad nauseam.

These microscopic instigators of oneness

have somersaulted through the lung tissue of his least favorite teacher

and the garden snake that lives under the creeping blue phlox

by the front steps.

This time I get a “yuck” as he runs away.


I tell my son that he drinks dinosaur water.

That the shiny miracle fluid in his glass

Is part of one continuous loop of

lake, evaporation, cloud, rain, river, body, and so on.

I tell him to watch for tadpoles in his shower and

seahorses in our teacups.


I watch these mysteries of interconnectedness

try to permeate a seven year old’s assumptions of separation,

(how does this happen so quickly?)

Try to catch him by the collar, by the heart as he runs off again.

I watch and I wait and I wonder...

What will it take for him to love

earth sister, sky brother?

When will he come to know himself

as a continuance of this blue planet home?