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our mothers, our daughters, ourselves

Today, in the woods, I sat thinking about my daughter and all our daughters and sisters and mothers and #metoo and #ustoo, I looked down and I saw moss. 


Moss thrives on abandoned, barren rock. There is barely a crumb of nourishment yet it grows and thrives and transforms the grey, unforgiving rock with its living, thriving verdant green. It spreads its roots with abandon, gripping tenaciously as it transforms lifelessness into beauty. You find it clinging to downed trees or dead roots or cracked concrete or vacant lots.  It stakes its claim on death--and persists. 


The boulder we are faced with today is enormous. It is cold and dark and full of jagged edges and precipitous overhangs. That tiny voice inside me reminds me that we can be that moss, clinging on for dear life, persistent in its roots, verdant in its beauty. It tells me that we are the colonizers when life seems hopeless, when we are abandoned and left to rot. We too can transform death into life. We can reclaim our power and secure our future, establish one root at a time. 

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