…of vetiver

Beneath the quiet meadow, the wild grasses sway
to the patient rhythm of an unseen wind
the vetiver waits for the slow conversation
between earth and rain, its beauty hidden
and while the blossoms lift their faces towards the rising sun
the vetiver reaches downward
searching for wisdom, where the darkness gathers
its roots descend, threading themselves through ancient soil
binding together what would otherwise be carried away
I too, have spent years sending invisible roots
into memories that no-one else could see
the laughter we once shared, the quiet evenings
where the silence itself, felt like intimacy
the warmth of your hand resting in mine
as naturally as rivers belong to the sea
the hands of time have scattered many things
faces become distant and voices quiet
the seasons fade as time turns the pages
yet beneath the visible landscape of my days
those roots remain, holding together the fragile ground
upon which I continue to stand
perhaps this is the true fragrance of vetiver
not just perfume, but memories
distilled slowly from everything that refused to let go
©Ann Bagnall