photos from blog.wellappointedhouse.com
There is a dangerous old woman
who lives in the forest.
Her house is whittled inside a tree trunk,
and her music is the rainfall on the leaves.
"Whu-hoo", says the owl
on the cobbled doorstep,
blinking her yellow eyes
and rustling her feathers.
"To enter, you must have passed
seventy years of seasons.
The map of your life
must be drawn upon your face,
and your eyes droop with
sadness and the memory
of your journey.
Yes. You are
sad enough and wise enough
to pass."
I enter and, within, the fire is blazing.
A grizzled white-haired crone bends
to pour my tea.
"And what are you wondering?
What question brings you here?"
she asks,
dipping a dainty finger
in her teacup
and stirring.
"What do I have to do,
to have my dwelling in a tree?"
"Grow back your clipped wings,
and remember how to fly."
google picture - original source unknown
One from 2013, kids. Because I am in need of a cup of tea. And wings. Or at least a bunch of helium balloons, to hold up my tired Head. LOL. Sharing it with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.
Or at least a bunch of helium
ReplyDeleteballoons,to hold up my tired Head
Perhaps a good night's sleep for starters. It is wise consider some good things readily available.
Hank
Good advice really for those of a certain age! I think it is a good reminder for us - that we have to remember how to fly!! And practice flying once again!
ReplyDeletesad enough and wise enough to pass.. goodness..that requires some pondering!
ReplyDeleteAh, this is beautiful — there is a certain kind of realization that must come only when you are "sad enough and wise enough". I liked the setting and the motif of the wild woman, a kind of spirit that should always prevail. I hope you soar high and high and take a great flight, albeit even if it is with a bunch of helium balloons. Ha! :-)
ReplyDelete-HA
We certainly did amazing thing when we were younger and it does come as a shock that you have had your go and you can't do all those things that made life so great all those years ago. This is really beautiful Sherry; except of course her stirring the tea with her finger!
ReplyDeleteThis is beautiful! Perhaps wisdom is always there lurking inside the corners of our hearts.. one only needs to be in touch with their "Higher selves."💞
ReplyDeleteYes indeed tea and contemplation makes for a good visit to our inner wisdom selves
ReplyDeleteHappy Sunday Sherry
much love...
The old crone's finger in the cup of tea tells me all I need to know: I want to be like her too! Let's grow wings together, Sherry, and fly, fly, fly!
ReplyDeleteDelightful! And wise.
ReplyDeleteEnjoyed the contrast between coziness and flight and very much wanted to curl up in the tree and listen to the rain. :)
ReplyDeleteThere is wisdom in the sage - she knows what must be done. Grow back your wings you still have time to fly.
ReplyDeleteps - tip - sip a cup of rosemary tea it's good for headaches.
DeleteSad enough to pass and determined enough to grow my wings.
ReplyDeletewhat a delightful tale. ah, we must earn back our angel's badge. :)
ReplyDeletei think the swing is called "the swing at the end of the world" in Ecuador.
Oh I would love to dwell in a tree... when you are still young enough to climb you don't need the wings... maybe wisdom is like feathers on a wing.
ReplyDeleteI like the rewriting of the Baba Yaga story here - and the deeply earthy feel - as well as the most brilliant wisdom imparted.
ReplyDeleteAnd this kind of has stirred up the Tom Petty song in my head - part of the lyrics of "Learning to Fly" are "I'm learning to fly, but I don't have wings, coming down, is the hardest thing."
Which is all too true - but still, fly we must, however it comes to pass - even in the new for old, old for new ways. And maybe, this is just the truth of walking this earthly realm.
This may be an "oldie" poem of yours - but it is exceptional Sherry. I love it.
Dear Sherry, I love where you went for tea, and who you had tea with!!
ReplyDeleteA wonderful witch's tea party, Sherry. I'm ready for Halloween already. I'd quite like a house whittled inside a tree trunk myself and love the sound of rainfall on leaves. :) But I haven't reached the required seventy seasons yet.
ReplyDeleteI haven't reached the required 70 years but I feel after the last few years with battling cancer, my mother dying, losing three freiends to suicide and two to illness, that I may qualify. I love the house in the tree and crone serving tea. I am afraid I would hop up and take the teapot away from her and insist she sit down whle I serve her. I don't think your wings have been clipped, I just think you are tired and in need of a rest and listening to the music of rain on the trees.
ReplyDeleteI've a strong suspicion your wings have never been clipped! I enjoyed this.
ReplyDeleteWow... "Grow back your clipped wings,
ReplyDeleteand remember how to fly." this is wise and sad and wonderful.
Gorgeous. Thanks. :-)
ReplyDeleteGreetings from London.
Love this one, Sherry! It is enchanted and wistful and wise. A lovely story to cast ourselves in and reflect on the happy magic of imagination and the adventures that await, even as we pass 'seventy years of seasons'.
ReplyDeleteI can hear it as story read to children.
ReplyDeleteMoral here, 'life isn't fsir." Its confirmation to me. But most times only the feathers are clipped and not the bones. Clipped feathers grow back. For sure it is time for a new government.
ReplyDelete..
Quite an allegory here, Ms. Sherry, and I love the requirements for entering to have tea with the crone. I'll be there soon. Wait for me!
ReplyDeleteI didn't know you used to live in a tree house:)I'm a fuss pot so have Twinings Breakfast and a slither of fruit cake with icing at the ready. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteI love the requirements for entrance, and the fact that there is a way to achieve what she wants... she only has to find it.
ReplyDeleteReminds me of Chapter One of The Hobbit!
ReplyDelete