The Baton of the Ancestors
One by one, they go.
Our mothers, our aunts, our elders—
the women whose hands shaped
the ground beneath our feet.
And when they leave,
they do not take everything with them.
They carry our love, yes…
but what they leave behind
is far greater.
They leave their stories.
Their laughter.
Their quiet endurance.
Their hard-won wisdom
etched into bone and memory.
They leave the way they stood
when life tried to bend them.
The way they loved
when it would have been easier not to.
The way they carried burdens
without asking to be seen.
And now—
we are the ones
standing where they once stood.
We are the keepers
of what remains.
Not just in memory,
but in how we live…
in how we love…
in how we endure.
We are the living bridge
between what was
and what will be.
The stories do not end with them.
They breathe through us.
And it is now our turn
to carry them forward—
in our voices,
in our choices,
in the quiet strength we pass on
to those who come after.
Because one day…
we, too,
will be the ancestors.
Offer whatever name you wish to be known by at the hearth today — real or imagined — we look forward to welcoming your words into the circle.
