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Old Crone

She stood in the copse of trees breathing in the cedar, wishing for a place to have a flame. Turning, turning to touch the branches, tilting her head back to see the circle of exposed sky. She waited. Not yet. Not yet.

She sat upon the earth drawing circles in the dirt reaching her mind deep down to the bedrock and watched the moon rise over the rooftops. Maybe now.

Standing, her melody rose from her throat in muted tones, only meant for the cedars, to bless them, to thank them for their existence, to ask them to communicate through their roots across the miles of soil until the connection with her willow was created. She waited, watching her breath curl in the cold air. Then, turning the directions she tilted her head and there it was, her sister, her mother, her lover, her soul... the moon in all it's fullness and splendor.

She extended her fingers to the sky pulling down the light, filling herself with Great Spirit until the moon passed beyond the edge of the cedars. In deepest exhilaration and tranquility, she felt herself shrink a little, as she pulled in the reins of her thoughts like fairies dancing around her head. No, not fairies. Too childlike for her. Just give her some sparkles. She's too serious for she has passed beyond summer now.

That was then. This is now. Now she sits quietly on her sofa imagining the soil, imagining the cedars, imagining the moon, even though they are right outside her door. She's peaceful about it. No need to teach anymore. Others are doing that now. Besides, it takes to much energy now. If only she could find the other ones again and sit among them, or maybe on the outskirts when they dance. She could borrow some energy to be present. She could take some energy home with her to last until the next moon.

She's tired now, wants to rest. Her heart is not in it tonight.

1 comment:

  1. This is beautiful. So rich with feeling.


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