Shedding Suits

Shedding Suits

By Janet Howard

Spring stayed in hiding this year

no crocus pushed up through the earth

a faucet turned on and only quiet revealed


a dawn with no trill

peepless ponds

an ocean with no current

mountains collapsed

in a heap

lying still


only love and gratitude

will rouse her from rest

from her wounds

she is cold


and quiet


a child sings a verse

wishes on a star

quiet movement - a ceremony of innocence


ancient ancestors, guides, spirits

to assist


a crone from within a tree

covered in moss

eyes misty

knows it is time

for the wake up


the crone and the child

sway from side to side

with the stillness

in a shared rhythm

palms touching palms

communicating with clear eyes


one by one - others join

in sacred chant - movement

like forest creatures

slithering and stalking 

a ceremony of conviction and adoration

fierce and determined

humble and seeking

following the child and the crone's patterns

for those that forgot

how to be


a collective memory

of how it once was

like an honored fairy tale

that hasn't been read

for a long time

the rich illustrations recall

pages creased from

repetition and



the cadence

of words

tumbling through

from back

when the earth was honored


and quiet wisdom



resuscitating her


with voices




and while bees, birds, frogs, water, coral, and healthy dirt come back

and the mountains are solid 

the faucet gives drink


and all voices count


"return on investment"

"demonstrating value"

"short term wins"

and "value proposition"

 are extinct


not part of the equation


because it's clearer now

respect first

all else follows


stiff brains remove knotted ties

"brand awareness" fading

"financial optimization" cracking

shedding suits to earth


there they lie

at rest

mushrooms push up from scalps

spiders spin webs among fingers


they weep


they wail

they moan

as the spell is lifted

the suits now earth


a stream of tears

the colors

of a rainbow



and we love them



roots emanate from feet

a bud on each fingertip pokes through

a reboot

new program



moves and then

releases confusion

making way for

the ancient and new


like the crone and the child

both wise and young

They stand up





and join

the wake up.


Originally posted at on Janet's website

Photo by Martino Pietropoli on Unsplash

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