Among the Columbines by Krystal Gauley

 

Photo by Veronika Andrews

Among the Columbines 

As I emerge

from the last veil of trees, 

I pause. 

My gaze ascends, 

my spine uncoils like a bear

waking from winter’s dream,

to greet the newborn Spring,

her fur silvered

with beads of dawn.

Standing on her hind haunches, 

muzzle tuned to the shifting air,

my body follows her call. 

My belly bellows,

lungs drawing in a breath

of stone, thaw, and pine, 

and the world lifts its face

to meet mine. 

Here, I unclasp my hold

on the small, guarded body I cradle. 

I unfurl my wings,

vast as a soul remembering,

release them from painful concealment, 

shake them wide into the light. 

I meet the faces of the remembering ones, 

those who know my name. 

I give my gratitude, 

scatter my sorrows like seeds, 

lift my dreams into their keeping. 

I pour myself outward

until I am only resonance,

sound and stillness entwined. 

The wind stirs my breath, 

the sun pours gold like honey into my skin,

the earth steadies my bones,

Spring waters glimmer through my hair. 

The world’s weight

loosens its hold upon me. 

I am nourished by this holy moment, 

by the hummingbird moth

dancing among columbine flowers. 

Step by step, nearing the heavens, 

I rise, I reach toward realms long forgotten. 

Here, perched in peace and sanctuary, 

I watch the turning world.

I am home. 

© Krystal Gauley

Krystal Gauley

Krystal Gauley is a poet and creative nonfiction writer completing an MA in English and Creative Writing. Her work is rooted in landscape, memory, and embodied encounters with nature, exploring emergence, stillness, and personal transformation through breath, presence, and relationships with the natural world.

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