A Fall Equinox Prayer to Lucan

Tmkashla, giver of life
and
Lucan, bringer of life:

Thank you for the acceptance
of the seeds of spring,
And the high energy of
Sun heat and light
to bring those seeds forth.

Thank you for the harvest
and this time of Balance,
Where day and night,
heat and light
Meet
on equal terms
for just a moment.

Thank you for the high time of Creativity
and Productivity
we've just enjoyed,
And thank you
for the coming bringing forth
of the depths of winter -
the wolves'
Season of Plenty,
Diving deep, when the
Earth is solid,
to the Spirit World.

Help us to know
our souls, Lucan.
Help us to
Bring Forth with Joy.

Help me to honor you
by continuing to birth anew.
Help me to honor and release
the fruits of this season, and
Help me to let the ground rest
so that I may go ever deeper
with the New Year.

Thank you for allowing me to
see the beauty of these things,
and Thank you
for bringing forth the expressions
that allow us to share.

May all the seeds of spring find new and
deeper life.
And may all those who have passed
Rest in peace.

Aho, Mataquiesen.
(I Celebrate, and for All My Connections.)

September Raspberries

Maple seeds crown the head
of Timmy the Cat -
stretched in the sun -
and a
cool breeze
rustles the crispy greens
of late summer.

Deep pink in the hollyhock,
deeper in the amaranthus, the last
of the dying, brilliant poppies
red and a
blush of color
on the fruits
of the apple tree.

But the queen, September Raspberries,
a Brilliant treat
of sweet and color,
the last gasps of summer
bleeding its life -
breathing its last color -

Into the garden.

What My Medicine Is

-To Steve, for asking the question, and the Wolf Clan, for holding space. Fall Equinox 2009. Thank You.
(notes for finished piece titled Equinox Yin & Yang)

My craft is writing.
My medicine is poetry.

My craft is gardening.
My medicine, connection with the earth.

My craft is yoga.
My medicine is celebration.

My craft is smudge.
My medicine is freedom.

My name is Eve, and
My name is Dancing Hawk.

My medicine is all of these things, and
My crafts are my expression.

May my worlds be not separate;
May my worlds be one.

Revisiting The Blues

Nothing says The Blues
like the back side of a train.
Wailing harmonica and train whistle
Love vanishing down the tracks
A packed suitcase and goodbyes
And the soulful heart crying out
through guitar strings and a subtle blues beat.

The memory of love lost
is as fresh as the turn of a dial
And as universal as the beating heart;
Visit, re-visit;
Every win has a loss ...
Every arrival, a departure ...
Every rose, a thorn.

Mt. Spokane (August 15, 2009)

Perfect bonsai
Miniature pine
Grass and flower
Evergreen and berry
Little waterfall
Mossy rock
and Sprigs of Purple and Blue
Cling to the Mountain,
Define its curves with
Miniature elegance.

Every four-legged homestead
a Microscosm of
Shelter and Light,
Rainfall washing the
Paths of last season.
Nature's perfect balance,
Everything in its place
And no stone unturned.

What any city gardener would give
for this Skill, this
Magic of placement,
Soil and moisture
Exactly to Specs.
Difficult to Duplicate
Impossible to Fake
Beautiful in Execution.

May all the fragile vignettes
Survive the onslaught
of Asphalt
and the Mountain
Forgive our unconscious traverse.

Garden Meditation, August 8, 2009

[For John, and All of Creation. May the Microcosm and the Macrocosm Be One.]

Unfold me
Like a delicate flower,
Opening to sunshine
And moonshine,
Shadow
and Rain.

Let me
Feel grounded
In our love,
And trust
No harm
will Be done.

Awaken the breeze
And the rustle of leaves,
Delicate chimes
And hummingbird song.
Journey with me
to the Center of the earth.

Patience
As we walk the path
And turn the corner,
And maybe Sink,
Let go,
and Fall together.

Oh Best Beloved,
I pray
To be worthy of your grace,
And offer my own softness,
Privileged to witness
the Unfoldment of your light.

Together we glow
With all the forces of nature,
Colliding,
Radiating,
Coming together,
Altering perception
and Altering reality.

With gratitude,
May I express these gifts of love
with Amplified love.


Aho, Mataquiesen.
(I Celebrate, and for All My Connections.)

The Chicken and the Buffalo (excerpt)

She stood still, mildly horrified, as the bird - a chicken with a long graceful neck like an egret - came near her, a slight malice in its eye. She stood still, and she was small, a child. The bird came right up to her, at a fast wobble, awkward the way chickens are, and she put out her hand to shield her face. The thing pecked at her hand, leaving a mildly deep and bloody wound. She looked at her hand and felt fear, and then felt really, really angry.

She grabbed its neck, and at first just squeezed, but then she twisted at its scrawny muscles, until she felt a definitive snapping, and she let it on the ground, blood spilling neatly from the break, the body lifeless. She was a curious mix of elation and shame, and she ran from the spot, around a corner and down a sandy hill, a sand dune with no living thing on it but her.

She fell to the bottom and she covered herself to hide because there was a buffalo at the top of the hill, and she felt it looking for her and she was afraid. She was afraid, and she certainly couldn't strangle a buffalo like she could strangle a chicken. So she covered herself with sand, burrowing under, scooping the sand from above her over her body, and she lay still.

The buffalo moved on and two little girls, sisters, came down the hill looking for her. She remained hidden, because she wasn't sure where the buffalo was or why they wanted her. One of the girls saw just a bit of Child of the Desert, and was just a little frightened at first because she wasn't sure what was under the sand. So she raised her right hand up out of the sand and waved at the girl, like a secret handshake, and the girl laughed and they all got up and went back to the village.

Faced with an elder, she tried to explain what happened. He looked at her with kind eyes, wrinkles crinkling in his face, the sun behind him. He looked at her with compassion, and said nothing, only listened to her story.