The land was a lonely letter

The land was a lonely letter
Arrived full of secret words
At my five bar gate
But sealed by heather
And signed by Great Grandmother
In a hand of ferns and furrows
Secret as blank paper
I stand beneath a horizontal branch
Its leaves stained brown, but fresh with buds
They cover the ground
As whispered words
That Grandmother once spoke aloud
Written, not on twice folded paper
But in roots, rung as hands
Crossed over frost sheared bluffs
And the ceaseless torrent burn
That always changes,
And always stays the same
I turn the envelope in my hands
The saplings, alive with soul and berries
Reach under my boots
Their whispered words knock at my door
A letter of time falls to my step
It bears my Grandmother’s hand -
I never knew her
But I’m not lonely like her letter
Of rocks and moss and trees and leaves
That are written all around.