Roll open the scroll of your life on the grass

Wide and long with gentle hand and thought

Precious parchment is sure to fray when harshness pours

Edges brown and beg to be absorbed back in to earth they once grew

The scroll may grow in length, assurance not your right

Sit with it in quiet, allow the rain to wash away that which is not meant for permanence

Ask for it, chant and pray if you must

Left on the wet uncomfortable quiet of the grass will be your timeless ink and legacy

When you shiver, honor stillness

When you hear only scream, honor quiet

When little is remaining, trust

Trust the story being left, the story being written

For that which is deeply rooted will not be washed away by the rain

Trust in gentle quiet

That which remains after the storm

Is

You

~Alisa Hutton