Wolves at the Door

Hare and Bone and Hide

There is a place I visit 

when weary in my heart,

of who we have become 
and how we have forgotten. 

The journey there is long, 

through cave, 
mountain, 
and remembering.

 I crunch through lightly falling snow, 

trail of woodsmoke 
and cedar scented air. 

Wind blows delicate flakes in bursts 
and breathes through tribes of swaying, reaching pines. 

It is night. 

When I reach the glowing shelter, 

flakes die, stars are born. 

Soft drumbeats and low voices 

hum together from inside. 

I bend and enter 

a flickering world of fire and women, 

wrapped in blankets and furs, 

singing songs of moss.

Hair and bone and hide

bound and tethered and known. 

I sit without a word, meeting 

- soul to soul-

the ancient one, 

keeping rhythm with antler 

and broken heart. 

Gentle sounds of rattles, 

shake me into presence. 

I am here, as I am, 

nothing more to do or say or be. 

The eyes of each one gathered here,

 knows of death, 

and of going beyond. 

A raw, 
exquisite knowing - running through the forest, 

hunting a life worth living,

glancing and grinning, 

at the toothless shadowed one, 

running along beside. 

Breathing together in this circle, 

drums and rattles and crows,

building, weaving, praying,

there is no forgetting who I am, 

or what I am to do, 

or that

 owls,

bears, 

and stones, 

are breathing 

with 

me, too.

I wrote this back in 2010, and posted it here then, too. It felt appropriate for today. 

Connecticut is not far from here  (for those of you from over the seas and far away), 

it is a neighboring state. The school where the shooting took place yesterday is one 

that a friend of a friend's niece went to until last year. So, this is close. But I have 

been in my own wave of grief the past few days - as it is with grief, coming and 

going - and find I can't crack open any more to hold this new, massive weight. 

I'm aware of it, but it is distant, not mine, I'm sticking with mine for now. 

Last night I had a dream of wolves at the door. First, I opened the front door to see a man in camouflage, carrying a rifle, walking close to the house. I thought to myself that I'd never seen a hunter so close, and closed the door and wondered. Then I looked out and saw two, huge wolves and several of their young. I was excited - for if there are wolves here, it means the forest is healthy, that there is enough prey for one of the larger predators. Then I thought of my Pasha cat and his forest wanderings - he's the closest thing I have to a child. I thought about the added risk of letting him out with wolves around. 

The truth is, I have been hearing what sounds an awful lot like Wolf howls in the night. They are not reported to be here, but, I think they may be moving in. Its quite something to let one's beloved out of sight, into the world - be it forest with wolves, or the world...