Rest or Wrest

I was weary. I had been trying to move mountains and build bridges.

There was rage just under my skin.

I was a snake coiled and ready to strike with a smile on my face.

I went to hide in my garden.

I was hardened and hollow.

I wrote out the rage.  Angst and anger bled out in ink.

I was resting. I was hiding. I was healing.

But the mountains did not get moved. The bridges did not get built.

The Earth quaked, fires raged, smoke rose and blocked the sun.

Nature is angry.  Her balance has been disrupted.

How can I rest while I watch this?  I cannot.

My sword is my pen. I will battle smarter not harder this time.

I am sending messages to other warriors. I suggest you do likewise.

It’s time to wrest in writing.

I am not just a mother of children, I am a mother of nature.





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