The Mother of Years

I dreamed I met the Mother of years.

Before Dawn I see her,

robed in purple richness.

The Garden is her Field.

Our eyes meet,

an extended soul,

a hand reaching toward the door.

I touch her hand,

our fingers communicate our river.

I swim back up my arm in parting…

R.A. Hull   The RiverFarm, Fall 1991

I wrote this during the Embers of Summer (1991), not long before I left the RiverFarm, after living there 4 years.