The Herb Cellar

Above me, the herb-scented ceiling reeks of sage, scent

And I suck it in, breathe the heavenly earthen aroma

Rafter-dry hanging bundles dangle with dust

Wood begetting arid plants of healing and sustenance

I breathe…

On the slanted cool of wooden chair supported, snug I sit

Comfort arms stroke my back as I lean on its straightness

Heady from the wood and the fragrance and the earth-scent

I revel in its firmness and I inhale the silence

I breathe…

Pots and pots, pile upon pile, they line up the walls

Pottery soldiers standing tall, strutting in procession

Stacked according to size, they frame and fill the wall-boards

With smooth crockery, sienna warmth

Hinting of a pregnant promise for growth and

Better things to come!

Wicker bushel basket bursting with the dryness of bundled

Fennel, savory, thyme, rosemary, lavender, parsley, mint

My tongue and senses are sharpened, my mind sentient

I ache with my love for it, and I breathe…

Wooden slats of floor lie cool beneath my feet, relaxed

Bare-pressed against the freshness, another earthen promise

There that I can feel in my toes and in my soul, an ancient

Oath of health and strength and growth and purpose

I worship the silence of the herb cellar and cherish the magic

I succumb to the dizzy scents in the dusty air

And I breathe.

cailin raine