I am sorry House,
that I could not love you.

My heart was closed,
too busy holding on to pieces,
already broken
I was.

I could not see,
your tender care,
your solid hold,
you doing what you do best,
shelter.

I could not feel
warm, ancient soil
underneath my feet
lifting pine trees to the sky
welcoming crystal white covers
to carry us into the depths of the woods
in the company of ravens, eagles, moose and myths.

I was not hearing
the soaring air,
the speaking winds,
the soft whispers of comfort,
the Soul of the land
speaking to my broken soul.

My heart could smell,
could touch the sun,
could caress the moon,
sing with wolves and wonders
– but not under your roof.

I am sorry House,
for not living
while I inhabited your space.

I am sorry House,
for just grieving
in your warm arms.

I am sorry Mountain,
for loving you more
than I love myself,
for finding life, joy, wonder and purpose
on your hilltops.

I am sorry Mountain,
for capturing your soul into mine,
for the bliss of oneness
which only you know.

I am sorry Mountain,
that I cannot live that gift, that passion
for now and ever after more.

If anyone will ever ask,
I shall say;
The Mountain holds my Soul.

Cecilia Götherström, May 7th 2015