Is there any sense of soil in the way my chromosomes are curled? Or is the grass and wind expressed in the way I spin my words to syllables? I always wonder how deep the roots can stretch, or if our homes consists of memories of paths we walk. Blood and soil or being pilgrim, always moving? Maybe there have always been two different kind in mankind, the wanderers and those who stay. What am I?
Is this the chasm expressed in humankind?
You, me and others.
orange on russet —
ripe rowan berries feed
Today Frank hosts haibun Monday on dVerse and the topic is indigenous people. After recently having read about the stories you can read in the DNA I wonder what it can be. If there is anything that unites us it has to be that humankind has been migrating throughout its history.
October 14, 2019
Good question about chromosomes and sense of soil.
A beautiful mediation, Bjorn! Thank you!
I love the contrast between the rowan berries and the sparrows in your haiku. The prose is beautifully phrased.
You had me at /blood and soil, or being pilgrim, always moving?/. You pose a valid inquiry. What have we inherited that actually shapes our needs and choices?
Cool. I think the answer to the first two questions is Yes. Great response, Native Nomad.
I enjoyed the full-on nature perspective of this reply to the prompt.
Prosery for sure and the haiku a bonus. The wanderers and those who stay … loved it.
Beautifully done. (K)
Maybe there have always been two different kind in mankind, the wanderers and those who stay.
This is a great observation!
Even your prose is poetry in this one, Bjorn.Gorgeous photo.
I love the idea that our generational code is etched in DNA (chromosomes). Wouldn’t that be cool?
the eternal question, reformed: being, or becoming?