The dream of winter
Creating Anew, Again
Begging my inner spirit to create a portable, mutable ritual to renew connection to what’s growing under the ground, no matter where I stand.
A dream of more fluid shapeshifting.
One where there are no snags catching me back into silent solitary grief.
Instead, let the shocks of outside influences become a light and loamy compost to nourish me through a crucible of constant changing.
There is (there must be) a new way.
O Winter, teach me. Teach me to create anew, again.
I love this, and so perfect for the year of the Wood Snake. My word for this year is Transformation.
Creating a Space for Crows
Under the ground, the oak roots grasp the frozen soil
A dream creeps silent, into the liminal space before sunrise
Silent shapes begin to take form in the branches
The crucible of change rests in its oaken cradle
Changing light allows the shapes to take form.
There is a crow here ! there! and all four take shape in the dawn
Winter snow is a cradle for their crackers and seeds
97. Creating a Focused Frieze
Under the ground that has yet to freeze, things
shift and rumble. Granite and sand, old habits.
A dream arrives in the nourishing night of winter:
a lock broken, an old face youthful again, its
silent eyes yet glooming with reflected fire far
away. We turn from what lines our pockets.
The crucible of chaos melts copper and nickels
into satiny rivulets flowing to the museums,
changing art into ash, homes into skeletons that
march in marble across the front of the temple.
There is a story that we have yet to tell: of the
broken lock freeing us, of our 20's enjoying the
winters of our lives. When will the change
re-balance our answers? How many lifetimes?
Creating Anew, Again
Begging my inner spirit to create a portable, mutable ritual to renew connection to what’s growing under the ground, no matter where I stand.
A dream of more fluid shapeshifting.
One where there are no snags catching me back into silent solitary grief.
Instead, let the shocks of outside influences become a light and loamy compost to nourish me through a crucible of constant changing.
There is (there must be) a new way.
O Winter, teach me. Teach me to create anew, again.
I love this, and so perfect for the year of the Wood Snake. My word for this year is Transformation.
Creating a Space for Crows
Under the ground, the oak roots grasp the frozen soil
A dream creeps silent, into the liminal space before sunrise
Silent shapes begin to take form in the branches
The crucible of change rests in its oaken cradle
Changing light allows the shapes to take form.
There is a crow here ! there! and all four take shape in the dawn
Winter snow is a cradle for their crackers and seeds
97. Creating a Focused Frieze
Under the ground that has yet to freeze, things
shift and rumble. Granite and sand, old habits.
A dream arrives in the nourishing night of winter:
a lock broken, an old face youthful again, its
silent eyes yet glooming with reflected fire far
away. We turn from what lines our pockets.
The crucible of chaos melts copper and nickels
into satiny rivulets flowing to the museums,
changing art into ash, homes into skeletons that
march in marble across the front of the temple.
There is a story that we have yet to tell: of the
broken lock freeing us, of our 20's enjoying the
winters of our lives. When will the change
re-balance our answers? How many lifetimes?