We are privileged to feature this guest post by Maryam Pierstorff. You can find more of her musings here.

I remember the first time I heard a mountain speak.

She was humble with her words for such a mighty thing,

much more quiet than I thought a mountain would be.

Her words were not so much heard as they were felt.

When I drew in my breath and she held it for me,

I asked her, “What is it like to be walked upon?

to have roots break through your skin,

and grow onto your body?”

She laughed but did not answer me.

I walked down that mountain no more wise than when I stood on her peak,

and only now do I understand

what she meant when she smiled at me.

I decided to be more like the mountain

and find joy when my soul waters the garden of another,

feel blessed when my body becomes the home of someone else,

feel full when my cup spills to fill another’s glass.

For the mountain, she grows when others feed from her breast,

she becomes stronger by the roots that dig into her flesh,

she is honored by the feet that walk across her surface.

The mountain is mighty not for what she takes,

but for what she gives.

Though she never gives more than she has to offer,

It is always more than enough.

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