Lay still in wisps of grass and Indian Paintbrush,
See the dance of the sun-circles on your eyelashes, a rainbowed crop.

I ask the storyteller sitting ’round the tree trunk to tell me of the origins of humankind’s awakening to the great part we — each individual — play in life, in the Bible story. Were we aware of reading our souls in scripture before Christ came? When and how did we begin to know and have the first heart-tears cried having found the truth? That I, for instance, comprise every name in the book and forever in God’s love…

A robin tells the blue spruce your secret,
The tree is tickled and the songbird is glad.

©2014, Amaya Engleking



  1. saynotoclowns · June 14, 2017

    And how I miss the Indian paintbrush!

  2. Soul Gifts · June 18, 2017

    OH, now I get it – the paintbrush is a plant 🙂 Beautiful image to go with your poem

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