The old growth gives way to young
In a space where there was a burn.
Clearings are no accident.
By natural law, species push ahead, overcome, find new spaces to flourish, travel on wind or beast; take hold again, fall apart, crumble well.
The way is clear and, as quickly as all that, obscured.
So seize your wings, find your trail.
You are never lost completely: only once in a while unsure of your direction.
Go back again to the place where the burn has left a scar.
Fly with me to the river, swim with me to the shore, climb cliffs, send up a signal, tendrils and vines. There will be room for us all to send our roots out across that meadow.
There is a home for every bloom and blossom;
Every dandelion connected to every other by this web underground.