I walk through the ancients, the ancestors.
My fingertips touch the paper.
Whispering their names.
I'm walking softly as a breeze,
stirring the ashes and memories.
so many stories,
so many tears , so much laughter.
Kinfolk have left their legacies.
Some wrapped in puzzles or hidden
I find the strands of webs they have left,
begin to weave their tale.,
For those who are to come
I do not feel I am intruding.
The kinfolk give me great warmth and welcome,
knowing they are still remembered.