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