birch and leaves


Deer tracks in the sand,
and pebbles in the dirt
mark the path.
“Here is the way to go”.

Blue Heron rises over the marsh as if to say
“follow me”,

Painted Turtle in the grass says
“slow down” and “walk soft”.

I arrive at a spiral path
that offers an invitation to inner secrets.
Walking in silence,
the wind roars an answer to my questions.

I find birch branches,
white like bleached bones
on dead leaves.

They remind me the Crone is coming.
Winter is not long off.


– Deb Swingholm, 2013


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