in blankets, in bed, rain battering the window,
and cold creeping in thru the cracks in the frame
string-lit, mom storytells to us and our stuffies
fables fit for frigid times
"when skyfox skips to other skies
and shorewinter's shadows set us shivering
that's when the windy wintergods arrive"
"we" she says wrly, " (un)warmly welcome them,
the steady procession of strange spirits
the fertile-odd fungi, and their friends, fallen-leaves
who make the mud into community
the gray and rainy misty grandmother
the old owl-elder, ocean's offspring
healer and hider with her haunting call
North and numerous nameless winds
eat at our innerflame so always bundle up;
you're not gnarled enough to chase their knowings"
(a teasing tap on the tip of our nose;
having called out our coat from today, she carries on)
"the evergreen entourage of unsleeping plants
like cedar and seadew and sword-fern and spruce
lovely and loyal leafing, unleaving
trickster Twig, twin of the trees
who mesmerizes and metamorphosizes
and keeps you wondering when you're in the woods
here's Kindle-Goat, king of the crest of the dark
who leaps into flame on the longest night"
(point-making, she plays with a plush pony)
"and the drifty Mothherd, with her dream-bringing flock
which slipped samhainly to the realms of sleep.
and judging by your drowsy look
it looks like your moth
has led you off
dropping
kiss
lights
dreams
