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
half-eaten
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 ~ 
reaching...bending...twisting.
 
 
tangled branches of her walking stick bush greet her as she enters her garden...
sharing whispered secrets between it's braided arms:
soon...
 soon again.
finding solace in the sound of thread being pulled through linen
the flash of silver in a cat's eye ~ 
Levora














