Leaves and branches with their canopy thoughts,
pull darkness into the woods like water from the soil.
They dream dark dreams of quiet places,
where the birds fly in slow motion across the star studded sky.
There is no rush of stream nearby,
no roads for fast cars to skate along.
There are only trees with dark leaves that tremble in the wind,
burrowing down in the darkness.
Their lullabye-
the sighing of the wind and
the rustle of night wings.
Category: Creative writing
The Guardian
Where forest meets road, when the moon shines dim in the morning light…I am a light in the darkness, a darkness in the light. Call to me when your heart is breaking and your blood spills to feed the earth. I will answer you. It may be in the curve and sweep of a copperhead, it may be in the blue of a bunting’s wings but I will answer. Look for me in the liminal places, the places that belong to neither air nor earth, water nor fire and I will be there, arms wide open to pull you into my embrace.
Journal: Hekate, a vision
I run to the darkness like a child to her mother’s arms. She is a great black cloak and I see her hand as she pulls the night around me. I lean back to feel the wrap of her arms but it is me…I am in the one in cloak, I am the darkness and the world spins around me.
The Great Bird
The Great Bird flies high into the sky, his viewpoint from above allows him to understand the bigger picture…to see his place in the divine whole. When you are struggling to understand the direction your life has taken, fly as high as you can until you can see the bigger picture and then you will understand the divine magic that has brought you step by step to this place. Your whole life and your lives before have brought your beautiful soul to a this challenge, this serendipity. Rise up and accept the beautiful wholeness of your existence.
Our Lady of Divine Secrets
I am holding something back, holding something secret and precious near to my heart. It’s not that I’m afraid, it’s not that I’m shy or insecure. No, I am none of those things. I soar through the night, my silent flight a deadly threat to the small and hiding things of the wood. I am not afraid, my feathers hold their secrets close. They are my treasures, mine and mine alone. They keep me warm through the cold, ice laced winters. My secrets are my power, like the crystals growing deep beneath the earth, they power my compassion, my love for the world, my oneness…even when it is harsh and cruel and makes no sense.
Our Lady of Divine Secrets has a great reserve of power that each of us has and can call upon when we feel like there is no more room for love in our world. Her secrets are her own to keep, as are yours. What beautiful secrets light your path when the night is darkest?
The Hermit
A card near and dear to my heart. The Hermit…seeker of treasures within. She moves through the night in her own private sanctuary, the moon is her lantern illuminating hidden knowledge within her own being.
Lady of the Tipped Moon
She came out of the grasses, treasured orb in hand and looked around her. Her nose twitched as she tested the air. She had been dreaming, for quite some time it seemed and was having trouble distinguishing what was real and what was not.
This grass is real, she thought to herself and this lovely summer moon. I could walk for days and never find flowers as rosy pink as these.
Squirrel and Coyote
One day Coyote was stalking through the woods. She placed her paws carefully, silently and never rustled a leaf as she hunted. The day was full of new life. The arrival of spring had awakened the dogwood trees in the understory. Coyote breathed in the sweet scent of prey. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation when suddenly something tumbled down onto her back and fell onto the forest floor beside her.
Coyote looked down and was delighted to see a snack or rather a small orphaned squirrel with only a light dusting of brownish fur across his delicate back . His eyes had only just opened but he looked desperate and frightened. Coyote was about to reach down and gobble him up when suddenly she had an idea. She could bring this small orphan back to the den and boast about how she had become such a skilled huntress that the prey simply threw themselves at her rather than try to escape. She huffed at her cleverness and picked the little squirrel up in her mouth, tossing him onto her back.
Coyote had ranged to the edge of her territory and had quite a ways to get back to the den but she didn’t want to waste time hunting anymore, so delighted was she by the trick she had in mind. She settled into a distance eating trot that took no more effort than strolling along a path. As her shoulders blades danced back and forth, Squirrel was bounced rather roughly. She slowed a bit and the orphan tucked further into her ruff.
Coyote could feel Squirrel’s little arms wrapping around her, little hands tucking into her fur. Coyote could feel the sigh of comfort and relief from the little body. Something stretched in Coyote’s heart and it hurt. There was a strangling pressure on her chest she had never felt before. She stopped, all thoughts of the trick gone from her mind. She didn’t like this one bit. Coyote turned, wrapping her teeth gently around the little body, she pulled Squirrel out of her ruff.
“This will not do,” she thought and decided to eat Squirrel right away rather than take him back to the den. The pressure on her chest had grown stronger and the pain in her heart was throbbing. She placed Squirrel down on the ground before her and sniffed his little body. She opened her mouth to gobble him up when suddenly he reached out with his hands and grabbed her nose. With one delicate hand on each side of her muzzle, Squirrel made a piteous sound. At once it made her stomach rumble with hunger and her heart squeeze with compassion.
Surprising herself, she reached her tongue out to clean his little face. He turned up to the warmth. He was desperately hungry and pulled at her muzzle harder. Her heart felt like it would burst but the pain began to feel like heat…like the warmth of the sun spreading across her body. The light of it lit up her fur as golden beams traveled from tip to tip. The pressure on her chest turned into a caress and she felt as though she were glowing with it. She snorted in surprise and stepped back from the little Squirrel then laughed aloud. “What a good trick!” she chuckled as she gently picked Squirrel up in her mouth and placed him back into her warm ruff, “You have tricked the trickster!”.
Coyote began her steady trot again, heading home towards the den, now eager to share her new love rather than boast of her cleverness.
A memorial of sorts
A few years back I wrote a book…a YA book. About a neanderthal girl, about the connection between humans and animals, about how we humans have been slowly turning away from our own wild nature. The book is long and rambling and has more plot holes than an alabama road. But it keeps coming to mind because recently I lost one of my older dogs, Gertrude and at some point her sisters will follow her to the Summerland. And these girls were my Haranni…my tribe of another species and so instead of writing out a memorial to each of them as they pass into the other realm, I will post this bit from my book, which shows my love and gratitude for the unconditional love they have given me over the years . “Muffling my face in their fur, I sobbed with joy and relief, letting the memories slide from me like water. They let me cry for as long as I needed and until their fur was soaked through with tears. Exhausted, I took a deep, ragged breath and Treah curled easily against my belly. My head resting on Gerd’s breast I fell asleep to the sound of her heartbeat as the autumn leaves rattled down around us.”
Wolf Sleep
I sleep the sleep of the dead. I rest my head on a pillow of marble, my arms crossed over a heart that can take no more. It will never heal.
Never turn to rust, to dust to tears that disappear in the salty ocean.
So, I sleep. I turn my clouded eyes away and look backwards through the years. I can feel them all and what they mean to me. They are grey figures, like mourning doves on a cloudy day.
I sleep like an angel, my hands carved into marble. Long fingers. longer than they were in life. but I am no angel.
My wings burned long ago.
As I dream, my hands turn to paws, fingers curling under into claws. My skin, always too pale, too exposed, turns into a waterfall of russet fur.
I am a wolf, alone.
I dream.
Running along the tops of hills. The scent of the hunt is strong in my veins.
I am the wolf and I sleep no more. My legs never tire, I can run forever.
I will never lose their scent, it is a map on my heart. And I will never sleep again.
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