vision. half dream. two moth wings. underground. they are white. monumental to the senses. i dig with my fingers. the dirt fierce black in my nails, i eat it, it tastes good. i hollow down. the wings are fragile, monolithic.
what do you hear on the wind now? everything is in transition and in extremes. the swallows are gone. i saw them one last time on the tall aspen. the starlings are gathering at the marsh. swooping tinctures of murmurations before the final dance. and home, noisy jackdaws collecting each other at dusk, we watch hundreds of them readying to roost.
this week began golden and warm the fat hot pink hibiscus swelling with late flowering. swiftly descending into freezing wind and a pelt of hale in a matter of days, the body baffled by the extreme. this is touching every night and day in our world. there is so much loss.
i have been in the deep wood of a transition too. my heart hollowing and filling. so many tangled roots awakening, ancestors calling down the centuries. i am heeding the subtle signs, the treasured skiff of ideas across the mind. building shrines; one of bark, wheat and feather on our garden birch. another at the mother oak, on the edge of the dune moor, that sits in sunlight. we have left found relics and looped auric twine. i sit there in the golden morning surrounded by fungi, a fairy ring so my ancestors would have said,
somehow these conversations with the un-matter of existence are changing me. i don’t know the end to story, but i don’t need to. the opening up to the delicate yet vast power is a unmeasured non linear experiment.
here js a wee poem about finding one’s connection to voice, ancestors, trauma, memory and digging oneself out of the dirt to speak.
it was given to me
the intrusion. the cutlass or the wave
instance of memory, a manacle
bird song, a reliquary of language
what was missing was the caress of tongue on my palate
the wings underneath my feet
will you hear me if I say the right words
know the smell of seawater on my breath
there is a silence that buries
and another that makes it possible to speak
thank you for reading so far. during this transition time (and due to a creative writing education i am deep in) the day of this publication is changing, still weekly, but at a weekend. I hope you enjoy the rest that this offers as it does myself.
You know how to paint this atmosfere of change with your beautiful words my love… 💛🧡💛
A deeply magical and beautiful poem, as always 💫♥️