Lost Field Notes - Where The Ground Still Knows My Name

I learned the shape of morning From frost along the rail, Pine tea steaming quiet While the day fixed its own veil. There’s a path behind the cabin Where the stones remember bare feet, Every year I walk it slower, Every year it tells the truth. I don’t need a sign or a reason to stay, The ground still knows my name. I’ve worn these miles into my hands, Let the river do the same. If I leave, it won’t be far, Just far enough to say I was raised by time and weather Where the ground still knows my name. Cut wood in early winter Just enough to last the cold, Learned quick what not to take From the stories elders told. There’s a balance in the quiet When you don’t ask more than you need, And the forest doesn’t mind you If you listen while you leave. I don’t need a promise carved in stone or flame, The ground still knows my name. Every scar I carry back Fits the land that made me sane. If I wander, I come home By the long and honest way… I was raised by time and weather Where the ground still knows my name. I’ve watched the river change its mind A dozen times or more, Still it keeps on heading Where it always headed for. There’s comfort in that knowing, In a work you don’t outrun, Just showing up and seeing through What the season hasn’t done. I ain’t looking for forever, Just a place I understand, Where effort leaves a footprint And the years still shake your hand. I don’t need a throne or a higher claim, The ground still knows my name. I’ll carry what I’ve earned here And leave the rest the same. When the light drops low at evening And the hills start feeling plain, I’ll be standing where I started… Where the ground still knows my name.