This month Meriwether shares Four Seasons— a reflection she wrote inspired by the rhythms of change.
Roots
Roots that wind and snarl into ice filled lakes and clear streams.
Nooks and crannies of snow, ledges of pine trees, steep lichen crested faces, geometric blocks.
Fields that lay quiet.
Raw winds that bite.
A greyness that desperately clings to all moments throughout a day.
Roots that bury deep, deep into soil.
A food system, land ownership, and a history built upon inequity.
The necessary unlearning and learning.
A darkness that deepens.
Persist
Persistent are these winds.
Tired, proud, and firm are these mountains,
reaching towards the sky with their jagged edges and gentle slopping curves.
Bare breasted and stained with water marks are these steep buttresses and arched domes.
Leaning up expectantly, they welcome the rind of the moon as it hits the sky.
At one point, the sea covered this area.
These mountains were reefs and rises on the ocean floor.
Now they are oddly formed rocks.
Eroding, changing and evolving a little bit each year, shaped by seasons of sleet, hail, and snow.
Of cracking and thawing.
Changing, moving, shortening and reshaping.
Yet always present.
We evolve, we learn, we expand, we stumble.
We crack. We thaw.
We get back up.
We too must change.
We too must persist.
A warm wind blows, the east holds a pale pink light.
Rise
Seeds that were sown in late fall, now rise from the ground with the vibrant green of spring growth.
The first cut of hay is always coarse and full of fiber, with thicker stems, stocks, and heavier leaves,
shaped by the wetness of the early season.
The second cut will be sweeter.
The third cut will be rich and dense.
We stumble again. We rise.
We continue learning.
We work to redefine, reframe, and recommit.
We rise again.
The night falls, the dawn comes up.
And then, like a watercolor paint with too much water on stiff paper, the sky is bloated, smudged and runny.
Nourish
The summer simplicity of corn on the cob, sprinkled with salt, of a tomato slice with a single basil leaf,
of a carrot pulled from the garden, the dirt still on it.
We nourish and feed our souls, our hearts and our bellies.
We learn new practices of self-care.
We build capacity to offer support to those around us.
And then we mobilize.
The early evening sky alights with fuchsia and a deep blood orange.
The only break in the brilliant light, is the black smoke rising from an oil refinery, far off on the horizon.
We have work to do.