the kind of joy often reserved for otters

Born beneath the pines

the island awoke to the new

child with the kind of joy

often reserved for

otters

or space travel.

This child grew so tall

she resembled the pines that witnessed her birth

in a doorway

in her father’s hands.

From this beginning time

came songs and creation stories.

She moved to a city and wrote

poems of youth,

of sickness and health.

In the desert she made potions

and tapped on

bones to make them hum.

Still, the island awakes each day

with a dream memory

of this child of the pines,

of this woman who heals.

Today dawn holds lightly in the tree tops

as we celebrate

birth and

changing weather.

And, the joyful songs return

to the place that first

dreamed

of her.