For Gaia, Our Deepest Mother

You do not speak in commands,
only in rhythms.
In the quiet agreement
between root and rain.

You wear no single color —
you breathe them.
Mist learning from stone,
leaf remembering the sun,
water carrying stories
older than names.

We thought the world was something
to hold, to claim, to measure.
But you asked us instead
to feel.

To listen with the soles of our feet.
To let the wind teach us
how to move without harm.
To remember that nothing here is mute —
not the soil,
not the river,
not the trembling in our own chest.

When we slow down,
you meet us.
When we soften,
you answer.

We are not separate from your body.
We are your breath,
learning again how to belong.

For Gaia —
our deepest mother —
we choose to walk with care,
to see with wonder,
and to paint our lives
in living colors
that do not fade.

In gratitude,
Evelien