Here is a Woman of fifth decade rising before dawn, too restless to find Her dreams. The Autumnal air greets Her with a cold hand and She reaches for Her cape, pulls on boots and opens the door. Even in the cloak of night Her feet easily find the concrete path flanking Northwoods, and Her body jars with their fabricated certainty. Once She has risen the hill Her memory knows where to turn right and fold into the woodland beckoned by the last screeches of Owl. Her feet respond instantly, softening to receive the Earth’s voice through mud and root. She curls Her palm around the tall broken branch waiting to be Her staff, and walks on with the eyes in Her feet listening. The Crows call Her just eight minutes into the trees, leaving the mud track and finding a soft moss carpet under tall Douglas Firs. The dawn is still emerging.
Twelve Pearls at Dawn
Twelve Pearls at Dawn
Twelve Pearls at Dawn
Here is a Woman of fifth decade rising before dawn, too restless to find Her dreams. The Autumnal air greets Her with a cold hand and She reaches for Her cape, pulls on boots and opens the door. Even in the cloak of night Her feet easily find the concrete path flanking Northwoods, and Her body jars with their fabricated certainty. Once She has risen the hill Her memory knows where to turn right and fold into the woodland beckoned by the last screeches of Owl. Her feet respond instantly, softening to receive the Earth’s voice through mud and root. She curls Her palm around the tall broken branch waiting to be Her staff, and walks on with the eyes in Her feet listening. The Crows call Her just eight minutes into the trees, leaving the mud track and finding a soft moss carpet under tall Douglas Firs. The dawn is still emerging.