If God exists she is old pine and just enough.

She is bare-toed and sure-footed on the path her ancestors walked for her.

If God exists she is wild honey dripping from a honeysuckle vine.

She don’t need to be told what she already knows about the land holding her.

If God exists she is wet and flowing, birthing mountain holler creeks that flow out to the rivers and further on still to the ocean.

Her hips hum an ancient rhythm as she walks the ridge line gathering walnuts and pine cones in the folds of her dress.

I saw her stop not far past the porch of my cabin and I went out with a bowl of warm holy basil and asked if I could walk with her.

Her eyes lit and she pursed her lips reassuringly or so it seemed

’cause when I went to follow her past the barn and through the wood , she was gone.