Wolves. The moon. The womb. Motherhood. Oh the glory of it all. I’m pretty sure my kid doesn’t love the smell of me when I get home – what smell can a shoulder even have? The inverted shoulder usually stinks – that’s probably how my scent is remembered. At least I won’t get breast cancer.
Wow. This is sassy. I guess as soon as motherhood and siblings are brought up my inner defensive child comes out with sass and sarcasm to keep the real feels at bay. I do feel like my raw sadness and confusion is held under a thin viscous layer of… something. Like how the meniscus holds a stretching bond on the top of water to a glass or a raindrop – puncture it and it will come flooding out.
Of course the moon and the wolves have led me to water – did you read that amazing story of how wolves were reintroduced to a “barren” landscape and eventually through their instinct and wisdom brought the rivers back. This is how we need to think. We need to understand that all we are are supporting guides and tools for the natural environment to reshape itself. The whiskers on the wolves tickled my ears – the playful nature of pups – the omniscience of mom. Maybe that is what the pup smelled in mom, safety and love.
Black, cave, dirt. Night. Howling at the moon – if those are questions to the moon – I wonder what the answers are? Maybe the rivers are the answers.
where rivers are born 