My dead are buried here
Cycling the winds of change
Filling my hourglass with the sands
of moments spent with true hearts
moments charged with life’s passing
Experience dictating lessons
of community
of unity
of vision
A tribal pulse weaving roots
deep into the soil of my hearth
fashioning the cloak of enduring life
a version of immortality
told in legends measured by grains
creating a life worth living
Mare Martell 
“A tribal pulse weaving roots
deep into the soil of my hearth
fashioning the cloak of enduring life
a version of immortality”
I love these lines. 🤍
Thank you. Home isn’t always where you’re born.
Love this one! You keep getting better and better!!