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June 2, 2017

a morning's weather



The old woman is unbraiding her sea-wild hair. And the air fills with rain, and salt like the tiny constellations of the ocean, and forgotten time. The birds sing shanties. The flowers in my garden open their petals like bright sails.

The old woman is watching from the white porch of the world. She has a string tied around her ankle, tied around my heart. It is the same with all her children. She knows my deep trench monsters. She knows the bottled messages waiting without hope in me. She can hold them all in the palm of her hand and still I am free.

When the wind comes from the north, the old woman smokes mountain ash and sends root-brewed dreams - for she is all the corners, all the depths. She is the storm and the peace.

Now the rain has eased. The grove is quiet, and covered in star-pinned water from the last of the night. The sky is all grey waft  and bulge like the sea. But gold shines through it - sun shines through it - the love shines through it, the love of the god for his wife and for me.

7 comments:

  1. Interesting thoughts indeed, greetings to you.

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  2. It's been a (very long) while but i just popped by this evening and spent some time with you, I always did love your writing and that has only improved over the years xXx

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  3. i love this old woman you describe... :)

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  4. Wonderful writing and a gorgeous shot.

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  5. just so great...have been missing your offerings...remind me again if/how I can get notices as you add to your blog...thx *!*

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    Replies
    1. If you have a feed reader like bloglovin or feedly you can add my weblog there. I also post links at facebook (knitting the wind) and twitter. :-)

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