I had a dream a few days ago.
Soft, cotton candy clouds, holding me up.
Like a nest, homey and gentle.
Warm, blood-filled, veins criss-crossing,
a bed of pulpy membranes.
Inviting. Full of life
coursing through them.
Raw, like inside a skinned slice of orange.
Circular, round. Humming.
Unending, life-giving. Enduring.
Of give and take, of ends and beginnings.
From birth seamlessly to death and back.
An eternal nest of life.
Soft to touch. Vulnerable, fragile, delicate.
Strong to hold.
So I lean in, lean back.
I stay, and I look up into the vast blue above.
Crows circling gently, rhythmically.
Ancestors, looking over, protectively.
I am held. I am born.