Look at this wild one
\ncapering at the cliff\u2019s edge,
\nknee-deep in lavender
\nand maiden grass,
\nbare foot, bare-chested,
\nscrap of deerskin
\nknotted around her hips<\/p>\n
so small and sure
\nof her belonging
\nin the family of things.<\/p>\n
Mothered by the moon,
\nwatched over by the white wolf,
\nno agreements
\nbut to be held by the earth
\nand guided by the tide song.<\/p>\n
She approaches,
\nholding you
\nin her simple, steady gaze,
\na conch shell in her hands.
\n\u201cFor listening,\u201d she says,
\noffering it.<\/p>\n
You take it,
\nput it to your ear,
\ntuning to the deepest point
\nin the spiral,
\nwhere the truth uncoils,
\ngently, sinuously,
\nfilling head then heart,
\nbody and being,
\nwith the call home
\nto your own
\nfierce unruly soul.<\/p>\n
The Call Home Look at this wild one capering at the cliff\u2019s edge, knee-deep in lavender and maiden grass, bare foot, bare-chested, scrap of deerskin knotted around her hips so small and sure of her belonging in the family of things. Mothered by the moon, watched over by the white wolf, no agreements but to … Continue reading Kate Godin<\/span>