“I want to hear her heart beating in the quiet movements of the roots of the plants as they stretch and grab and stop my ears with her fertile dirt, finally gaining peace from the constant infernal racket of thoughts no longer wanted.” -Rumi
Roots grow in unseen places. They need to be unseen to grow. Undisturbed. Settled. A hidden place free of questions or answers. Where are you going? Is that a U turn? Go that way. Becoming strands of rich brown hair. The warmest cords of care. Conduits of convergence. Live electrical wires.
Red Huckleberry bushes like to grow on dead stumps, logs that nurse new growth, in dark forests. You can often see their roots, apparently unbothered by being exposed for all to see. Makes no sense. Growing in inhospitable conditions. Bearing fruit. Subjected to ever changing weather, burned in the sun, dried out from heat, plucked by foragers wanting something beautiful. Hardy. Tough. Resilient. Determined. Why not give them quiet, gentle, protective soil. Consistent conditions. Go to that hidden place.
No plants were harmed in the gathering of these roots; they were found previously dismembered.
