Calling

Deep in the woods

in the Olympic Peninsula

there is a rotary phone mounted on a tree

with a simple sign,

"Telephone of the Wind"

and the invitation

to call a loved one that has

died, to say goodbye or to

say what you didn't have time to say.

You pick up the receiver

with a trembling hand

and place it to your ear.

Slowly you trace the numbers,

your finger on a journey

around the dial,

two, four, five…. Pause. Inhale.

Continue.

Eight, one, eight, one.

Awkward at first,

you hesitate

What if someone hears you?

Then in a quiet voice

Hello? Mom? Oh, Mom…

I have so much to tell you.

And the words and tears flow,

tumble and rush

like a mountain stream on its

way to join the mother

who holds all the tears of all the land

in her salty embrace.

Who knows how long you

stand there, in the privacy of nature,

crying into an old rotary phone

hooked up to galaxies of energy

that carry your message to

your most beloved one, or to the one

you never knew yet missed

your entire life?

Who knows?

You have been heard.

Through the bark of the tree,

Through the ground beneath your feet,

Through the roots that touch the soul

of every cell that is on earth,

Your message has traveled through

time and the burden in your heart

and on your shoulders

is lighter now.