into the woods she steps...
padding lightly on a familiar path
taken almost 2x daily now ~
not one, but two vessels
~ purposely woven from twigs and sticks
with the intent of caressing newborn life.
she leans in for a closer look and finds
a cache of late-autumn acorns
long forgotten now
except to the small worms who now live inside
the shiny brown shells.
she feels full ~ as though the woods are nourishment.
and they are...
her walks feed her soul.
noticing the smallest things:
seeds. stones. feathers. pods.
how the air smells different here with scents of pine and black earth.
how the breeze caresses her cheeks and makes her hair float ~
and the muffled sound her shoes make upon a path of velvet moss.
as she emerges again from her woods,
touches of verdant shoots are here and there ~
as the witch approaches her humble farmhouse.
those closer to the old farmhouse sprout before their woodland neighbors,
being warmed by the bouncing sunrays ~
tangled branches of her walking stick bush greet her as she enters her garden...
sharing whispered secrets between it's braided arms:
finding solace in the sound of thread being pulled through linen
the flash of silver in a cat's eye ~