attending the wise women.
It is meet and right to do so.
No one here fears any god
designed by men for us to please them.
We braid each others’ hair.
I love the simple shift I wear,
the ceremonial fires, the reverence
for what grows and rustles
in the forest, the fields.
Insects glow. Trees are gracious,
generous with their shade.
The river hums and sparkles.
We learn songs as we stir the pots.
Our voices rise, drift downwind.
We learn the natures of pennyroyal,
hyssop, rosemary, ginseng, rue.
We learn women’s fierceness
has been smoldering for centuries.
Still, here, laughing comes easily.
We dance as we wish.
~
Feature art Hans Thoma “Goldene Zeit”
Excellent, Debra! This poem sings.
Thank you.
I love the way the featured art and the poem illustrate and comment on one another.