reading is as good as writing.

I've been really wanting to write and post, but just haven't felt all that inspired or able to articulate anything as of late. In turn, I've been reading more, and have re-visited some old things that I love. This is a piece from the book that my grandmother Betty was reading when she passed away.

I suggest you read this slowly, and take in it's imagery. I absolutely adore it.

Close to the Earth
(Alice Taylor)

Come to a quiet place,
A place so quiet
That you can hear
The grass grow.
Lie on the soft grass,
Run your fingers
Through the softness
Of its petals,
And listen:
Listen to the earth.
The warm earth,
The life pulse
Of us all.
Rest your body
Against its warmth;
Feel its greatness,
The pulse and throb,
The foundation
Of the world.
Look up into the sky,
The all-embracing sky,
The canopy of heaven.
How small
We really are:
Specks in the greatness
But still a part of it all.
We grow from the earth
And find
Our own place.