Women are rising.
Wild, windswept, born of ocean, aflame with light,
rooted as trees, we are rising.
We are re-wilding ourselves.
Emerging from Earth, clad in moss and bark.
We are unrecognizable, except to each other.
We move in the shadows of forests and the deep, cool undercurrents of streams.
The Lady Trickster in my life, well, I shall call her grief. When the sun shines brightly and the birds sing, she cunningly leads me to the shadows. These are moments I hate and love all in the same breath...
Lately I have noticed myself spending a lot of time in the mirror. This isn't just vanity. As I look at the creases getting deeper around my eyes, at the sunspots popping up like a Dalmatian taking residence on my face, the permanent crease across...