Grandmother Oak Speaks

 

 

 

I climbed the steep dirt road
    behind the old farmhouse,
    the back slant of the roof caving in
    from snow, winter, neglect,
    bricks falling from the chimney.
There I was! in the land of the Fairies,
    the majestic Grandmother oak appearing to my left,
    bending gracefully to the sky.
To my right, my nephew's hunting camp,
    target practice set up,
    and a grill ready for the fresh meat.
I turned back to my Grandmother,
    moss rising greenly from Her massive roots,
    ferns bowing reverently at Her feet,
    Her huge old grey body bending gracefully
    up to the wide-spread branches high above.
I gazed upon Her, and a sparkling city
    rose from Her roots in front of me,
    translucent, silvery, rainbow.
"Let Life be what it is," I heard,
    imagining conflict, sadness, despair.
    The power of these Fairy beings astonished me.
"We promise always to do what We do."
Hands raised, long we exchanged energy.
I touched a small double oak near to me,
    through its own body sending great thanks.
I turned down the hill, bowing,
    and left. 

 

Annelinde Metzner

September 5, 2019

Catskill Farm

Mid July

That orange-yellow light,
baking through the outrageously overgrown 
plethora of green,
laughing, ecstatic with the miracle of photosynthesis.
It's mid-July, such an overabundance,
such an all-out fling, a gala of green.
I know it's not long until we fold in again towards Autumn.
But I will stay here!  I will be here, now,
here and now,
where delicate pink lilies bask on the water,
dragonflies zoom with great abandon,
sycamore tosses me her peeling bark,
frogs grunt and croak in the cattails,
singing with all their might,
where berries ripen oh-so-slowly.
A leaf drops, and the water responds,
ring upon ring upon ring.
I am happy in the heat and the mid-July sun,
listening to the tumbling creek,
not needing to be anywhere but here.

Annelinde Metzner
Nels' Pond
July 17, 2020

Remember

I'm gazing up into the high tree canopy,
the tall poplars arising from rhododendron
decorated with their waxy blooms
like brides at a wedding.
In the heat and buzz of summer,
a breeze comes through the tree tops,
softening, softening,
until all the leaves are waving.
"Remember the Mother!", they seem to say,
inviting me to let fall,
to give it all up,
to let it go and be Her baby again,
renewed, crazy drunk with love,
waving my green branches
as though all were perfect,
all were intoxicated,
all were full.

Annelinde Metzner
July 3, 2020

 

Adoration

Stepping into the blessed woodland, I am breathtaken.
The silent forest is motionless- the sassafras, the wild yam,
the still-green wineberries, the tall, tall poplars-
all in this moment remembering, grateful,
all venerating Our Mother.
All things are silent, astounded
with the intricacy of our deep connectedness.
Kin.
Each leaf, each root, each tree, each life is my kin,
abundantly feeding me as I feed them
with my love,
my undying adoration.

Annelinde Metzner
June 4, 2020

April in Sandy Mush

Cabin in Sandy Mush

I save the world by loving Her.
April in Sandy Mush, the new green apple leaves,
so soft, each flutters a different way 
at the slightest breeze;
the butterfly, fresh out of the cocoon,
careening downhill, already a crackerjack
at navigating with her iridescent wings;
the blackberry blossoms, full of themselves,
wide open to the hungry and meticulous bees.
The air is filled with buzzing things, 
delirious with the sun’s warmth.
Even a cloud floating high seems to smile with delight.
It is true, I know, someone crouches 
somewhere in a room,
cut off from the world,
fervently praying that the next gunshot, 
the knock at the door,
does not come his way.
I know somewhere, a mother walks miles 
for a jug of water
diverted from her village to sluice the mines.
I know the world will end, or so they say.
But Gaia exhorts me, “Look at me!  Take notice!
For you I have perched these roses on their stems,
for you I bring the striped grasshopper  
to set beside you,
and the wild turkey walks, stately, 
through the woods.
Are you listening yet?   
For you, four wide-eyed deer
come to gaze at your body while you sleep.”
I cannot ignore her, I cannot turn away.
It is my job to love Her, and She is vast,
and long, and wide, and huge;
I save the world by loving Her, 
and in this way, She saves me.

Annelinde Metzner 

Hawkscry  April 13, 2012

Many thanks to William Stanhope for allowing me to write at Hawkscry.

Listen to Annelinde reading "I save the world by loving Her":

Sandy Mush farm in April

Dogwoods at Hawkscry

Be ready

The Swannanoa River

Walking by the Friends Meeting house-
     so many memories!
So many songs we have sung to the river,
     our Swannanoa,
so many dances done.
So many prayers prayed, visions seen
     amongst the people gathered there.
I climb over rocks to the creekside.
I touch the water, I'm "going to Water" **
     and I bless my tired and ginger face with icy droplets.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you....."
     I say as I walk,
     over and over and over.
A hawk glides by, calling my name!
     "thank you, thank you, thank you...."
A titmouse comes to sit on the angel's head
     its orange side-stroke glowing in the sun.
"Be ready, be ready,
     be ready for the new...."

Annelinde Metzner
March 27, 2020

Regardless of the season or weather, Cherokees would go to the river to pray and submerge themselves. In fact, the word for “going to water” in the Cherokee language is interchangeable with the words for bathing and submerging. (The daily ritual was also why the native people thought the Europeans, who didn’t bathe as frequently, were dirty.) A ceremonial dip in the river was thought to wash away illness and bad thoughts. Cherokees bathed at the new moon, and upon returning from war, men would go to the water to purify themselves before re-entering the community.  


“The old Cherokees would wade out waist deep just after daybreak and throw the water over their heads and say, ‘Wash away anything that may hinder me from being closer to you, God.’ And then they would add their own intentions — for a good life, or for a good relationship with brothers or sisters. Seven times, they would throw the water over themselves. Or, they would duck in the water seven times. And when they got out of the water, they had to look into a crystal — likely a quartzite crystal found in geodes — and if it was inverted, pointing down, then they had to go back and do it all over again.”

Quote by Freeman Owle, article by

Susan Stafford Kelly, "Our State" magazine, 11/21/2016

Friends Meeting house in Black Mountain, NC

Lenten roses

Add caption

Woods walk

Trillium

The tiny beings of the woods are emerging now,
trillium, phacelia, dwarf iris, bloodroot.
Already the wee birds sing their hearts out
early in the almost-light morning.
I am still practicing my walking,
putting behind me surgeries, removals, replacements,
uncertainties of heart and blood.
The high bank of the little creek
is crowded with rhododendron,
eager as I am to bloom this Spring.
"We see you, dear Sister, welcome back!"
they call to me, roots, leathery leaves,
brown and twisted limbs,
each one a dancer in an exquisite corps de ballet.
I walk the narrow path, a prodigal daughter,
the sky among the naked branches
not yet leafed out.
The ancient fairy beings emerge from the forest floor
almost overnight.
"Oh," I pray,"surprise me again, oh Forest,
again let each of my steps and turns
shock and delight me.
Surprise me each day with your newness."
My prayer on a woods walk.

Annelinde Metzner
March 18, 2020

Trout Lily

Phacelia

Galax

Mossy tree

Woods walk

Moon Child Moon

On the night of the Moon Child Moon,
a warm February light paints each grateful tree
and settles on the forest floor.
Gazing into the white-glazed night forest,
I must not breathe.
I pause to wait for the silvery Moon Child Moon
to paint me, too,  with loving light.
I’ve nowhere to go.
I wear winter’s soft gown.
I will stop and root into the ground, 
silent as the next long tree,
waiting, wondering, patient.

Annelinde Metzner

February 4, 1996

Holle makes the Snow

A surprise snow!  Just cold enough.
Holle's laughter tinkles from the heavens
and the birds answer with their joy.
I am transfixed, enchanted,
my head tilting, my eyes softening.
I step outside to let the flakes
fall on my face and shoulders,
awakening my being with their icy touch.
Each flake is a blessing!
Holle makes the flakes bigger,
shaking, shaking Her featherbed,
looking for faces turning up
to hear Her laugh.
She shakes harder, more snow falls, and more!
The air is white with snow. Holle cackles with glee!
The world is blessed, purified,
leaf and bark, feathers and skin,
just for being,
just for our laughter and joy.

Annelinde Metzner
Black Mountain
January 31, 2020

Beautiful snow at my house

 Our January 31st surprise snow.  Thanks, Jude Lally, for the video!  It captures the surprise and the beauty.