From the Bogs

A sorrowful rain befell my desire, and I dreamt of a hooded fox woman who haunted these mountains long before they were first laid bare. Long before the ax, the saw and the realization that the blackness buried deep within the creases of earth made fire for the greed of men. She stood at the hearth, stoked her cook-flame and told me an ancient secret about the women of the caves and the water and the woods. Her words bewitched me into being, and I suddenly remembered why the world was still good, when even now the whole of it all is burning and fading around us. The full moon rose over that wise she-fox, and I called a moment close, a summer dream vision of forests and wildflowers, of tadpoles and endless days stretched out before a little girl and her dog. When I woke, her scent was all around me and the dawn pierced my grief. Hope trickled in and stunned me to life. The lost imaginings of a time long gone became louder and exceedingly clear. The voices whispered through the tree branches, from the bogs and from under the rocks along the forgotten pathways. We are still here. We are waiting. Please come home.

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Notes on this piece ~ This writing is from a group of creation prompts as part of Danielle Dulsky’s Witches of the Word membership. For more information on all of her offerings, visit www.thehagschool.com