Birth Rite

Mythical place, forgotten by the noise of urban life. Ritual shrine, where I let myself be embraced by a stone. Where the cold and hard caress becomes comforting, familiar, calming. Birthing my self, again, among the olive trees. In the piercing air of winter months, I renew my belonging, I return to that land that breaths my abandonment. Hold me in your arms. Like a lizard, I will watch the world from your heights. I will come back to you mother, to be born again.