I bless the earth and she blesses me in return.
In these moments it feels as if I am returning to home.

My surroundings catch each fall of my axe and lends me the air in which to breathe.

I remember that loved ones never really leave us.
Energetically we can hold thier essence in our memories.
My grandfather joins me.
He is bubbly and joyous in his presence, its almost as if nothing phases this man.
He knows why we are here but he is still smiling.

In one motion he nods, removes his cap, rubs his head and smiles.
This is my green light.
I swing with all my might.

I stack my wood.
I thank my grandfather.
He leaves.

It feels like an impossible feat to articulate the nuances I wish to express, the ones that called me to this ritual.

How will I ever find my words through such a broken language?

I am asking this often these days.