Mycorrhiza

By Rebecca Clifford

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Through the crux of the rock,

a thin lace of water seeks the valley floor.

Full of memories and moments,

echoes of laughter—time-worn promises,

it calls to a kettle lake, dark and steeped

in history, geology, a lake a hundred miles

further on.

Rivulets long to kiss the new washed pebbles

of the shore, hungry for home.

Between granite, shale, and limestone,

the quaternary sediment that is the valley,

life whispers and sighs.

Tendrilled and strange, moving through air,

and earth, trees exchange nutrients and water,

from crown to trunk to clutching twaglet, through

soil, pines exchange carbon with the birch,

fungi interpret messages marking the season.

Sky, water, wind, flora, fauna – a pulsing web

encompasses them all. They talk about

the weather.

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Rebecca Clifford's written works have been widely published at home and in international anthologies, blogs and e-zines. She lives rurally, near a watershed, gardens with a backhoe, and plants as many sunflowers as the ground will hold.