Wings for Wild Woman
Wild Woman carries the heart of a wolf
in her chest.
Its rhythm pulses in time with her wild sister,
who runs, wraith-like, through the forest,
stopping under a midnight moon
only long enough to tip back her head and howl.
Her true being only comes alive
within sight and smell of the sea:
the hackles rise along her spine,
as she raises her nose to scent the wind,
determining her direction by the keening call
of the wild.
Wild Woman belongs to each of us, and to us all.
She lives in the space between heartbeats,
and in the thoughts between words.
Listen for her knowing voice
at your right ear, whispering:
"Come, this is the way."
Then follow, with perfect trust,
for no one knows better or truer
than the Wild Woman Watcher within.
Wild Woman moves through worlds seen and unseen,
emerging at daybreak to slake her thirst
at the River of Solitude.
At close of day, the forest rolls out
a soft mossy carpet for her bed.
In between, you may follow her
when she is Wilding, but not too close.
Be respectful of her space and of her growl.
And when she shape-shifts out of sight,
look down quickly.
You may just see the pawprints
she has left behind.
Wild Woman is the one we run from when we are young,
and run home to when we are old.
She is an ancient singing through our bones, a wise smile,
the knowing eyes of a Watcher in the Woods.
If you are quick enough, you might just spy the furry tip
of her tail peeking out from under her billowing robe,
and trailing behind like moondust.
Follow her, embrace her, for without Wild Woman,
our spirits shrivel up and begin to die.
With her, our vision expands, and we learn,
finally and unfathomably,
- written in 2012 and found in my draft folder this morning.