...All the folks who came ahead of us
are like the brown roots of a big old vine
growing close to the porch,
and even though those roots are way down
deep in the ground where we can’t see them,
they’re still there.
Always.
And we grow from them, our whole lives,
and then, if we’re lucky, others grow from us.
from Resting in the Bosom of the Lamb,
by Augusta Trobaugh
