The fire pit is empty
the burnt and blackened logs of the night before
resting
Until another arrives
to ignite and fan the flame
The songs sung and the yarns spun
hang around
like a wisp in the air
like webs carefully woven
and added to an intricate pattern of weaving
that continues
long after the story makers leave
The birds and trees and fungi
gather them up
and let them settle
deep in the earth and wind and fire and water
A return to the elements
held lightly
cherished and nurtured
until another soul encounters the wisdom stored
in a place reserved for listening
for recovering the ground beneath our feet
and for sharing in the healing of the earth
Beautiful words
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