Wing: 100 Days (48)

Tying Up Loose Ends

Day 48:

Crocheting and a walk to High Point with my love.

Shifting
by Beth Weaver-Kreider

In Our Lady’s Garden,
tall birds strut and bow,
ravens call from high in the branches of an old oak tree,
a deer steps out from the brambles,
a long green snake winds its way through the grasses,
and a ladybug redder than a drop of blood takes wing.
An owl calls from deep in the shadowed forest.

Here you feel your grandmothers’ eyes upon you,
you hear your name in the breeze 
that rattle the branches of the witch hazel,
and the scent of roses surrounds you.

You could take on any shape you choose.
Any word will transport you.
Any fluttering leaf could become a wing.

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Shapeshifting: 100 Days (44)

Tying Up Loose Ends

Day 44:

A little more work today on the Grey panel of the shrug. I counted my hearts and flowers for Pride: 129 in the current batch.

Shapeshifting
by Beth Weaver-Kreider

Before I was born I was a little owl
gliding over moonlit fields
listening with the dish of my face
feeling my way through air
as a fish feels the water
which is both its existence
and its road.

When I die, I will curl into the womb
of the World, the coils of my snake body
sliding through the passages of earth
which will be both my pathway
and my truth.

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Magic: 100 Days (42)

Tying Up Loose Ends

Day 42:
Spent yesterday visiting beloveds and didn’t get home until late. Here is yesterday’s project and poem. A couple rows on the shrug (with some frogging in the process) and hearts and a scrappy grey flower. The scrap basket I finished yesterday, except for weaving in the ends. I heard a raven cronk  behind the dawn chorus when I was out taking photos. Grandma’s (green) and Aunt Lizzie’s (brown) crochet hooks.

Birth
by Beth Weaver-Kreider 

What bird sang
at the moment you were born? 

What animal stood suddenly,
poised and waiting, 
listening as if
for the tiniest murmur
in the quivering air? 

What bud felt the surge
of life force in its roots 
and bloomed?

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