April 23, 2018

Wild Roads
 

We have feared the Wild since the gods decided to rule;
over Woman, over Birth, over Death and over Time.
Worst, perhaps, in the burning years,
for the sin eaters of the world

have always and forever been the bearers of life.

Where the wolves have returned, so too has the Wild,
and the women who run there can hear the Call.
Inch by inch, step by step we take the path back,
to a place where stepping off is not something to fear,
for the Wolf has always been amongst our closest kin.

There is a poet who reminds us that the Forest
always knows where we are.
The beast and the birds know each tree and branch,
unique in all the world.
So we may safely know that we are never lost,
for the Forest always knows, it is simply
there are things that still must be done.

 

What fear then in stepping off the path and making new ones,
for all paths are made by walking,
whether by pilgrim’s feet or wolf’s paw.


There are apple trees here, but the young woman does not stop to eat.
She knows the stories of her lost sister who ate an apple from this Forest once.
Given to her by hands very close to home. No Wolf involved.
Today, she does not have time to sleep for she must go through the Forest
where all the Grandmothers dwell.
The long shadows of the deep woods are needed for this,

the last of all women's work.


She carries this in her blood.
There is power there,
She has known it with each beat of her heart.
The Ancestors speak to her,
through blood and bone, through bird and tree,
through breeze, and sunlight, and shadow.

 

There is no fear here, for even if Wolf comes,
she knows how to sing Him to sleep.

 


Fiona Mackintosh (© April 23, 2018)

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