∞ A Witch's Walk ∞

 

into the woods she steps...

padding lightly on a familiar path

taken almost 2x daily now ~

 

  along her journey ~ waist-high bushes hold nests in their gnarled hands, cupping them ever-so gently as the dried branches blanch in the winter sun ~  

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.

    there are signs of human-life now, long ago implements rust along the sides of the big fields where the deer watch her from the woodline edges.
iron that once came from earth now ~ sinks back to earth.  

  porch swings and mewing kittens. whiskers and gentle head bumps from beloved familiars.    her company on these small journeys she takes daily.  

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.

  her walk is over ~  a cup of tea and a snuggle a biscuit and a sweep of her kitchen floor  before finding her needle and thread.

finding solace in the sound of thread being pulled through linen

the flash of silver in a cat's eye ~

 

  remembering her walks  by painting them with fibers of cotton and silks.  

 
~ Blessed be ~

Levora

~ Birds of a Feather ~

  ...friends flocking together...
flying high on the rising breath of our laughter coming to know each other by the sound of our beating wings ~         clucking.   chortling.  crowing and cawing in ways that only we can understand ~       sometimes alone but always within each other's hearts     nurturing one another, being a mother to our more fragile selves.
    tenacious yet gentle enough to land on a dandelion fierce with our words in our loyalty to one another. 
    always looking out for one another while remaining our truest selves...     ~ Blessed be ~

Levora