Cushioned between towers of dirt,

Holding trees, holding plants, holding friends.

We stand in the deepest part of our home.


Where we are no one will find us,

Holding water, holding rain, holding storms.

We are nothing among these great hills.


Nestled in a grand cocoon,

Holding protection, holding resources, holding grace.

We are safe in our home.


I look around,

Pine, cedar, oak, birch, juniper,

Squirrels, robins, rabbits, deer,

These are my friends.


At night we listen to the voice

Of the great horned owl,

A father protecting his children.

​
And in the morning we listen to the songs

Of the mourning dove,
​
Our mother, preparing us for what life may hold.

Writer's Statement: ​This poem was inspired by a page that interested me in "The Book of Symbols," a collection of short reflective essays and images that represent key elements from all over the world. The page I focused on was on the significance and symbolism of valleys. I was also inspired by Ross Gay's short essay "House Party" from "The book of delights." I tried to bring out the comfort and community that could happen when living in a valley amongst animals, bugs, trees, plants, and water