Writers Ground

Come sit

upon this tapestry.

Let fingertips feel each blade of grass.

Look up,

see clouds meander by.

Lay back,

melt into all ever felt-- 

and be

with pen tendrilled words,

transcend--

all time, touch, sound and taste.

This here my friend,

is sacred space.

The oyster your grit refines.

This here,

is

writers' ground

-Rebecca Stirling