Sunday, April 17, 2011

Black/Dove at 35

We're yawning luxuriously, driving I77 to Harding's, the little country restaurant where we love to breakfast. Along the curve on Eden's Fork, I saw a brilliant white bird. I craned my neck to see if it was a dove as we drove beneath it, and the change in perspective revealed it was a crow. It had been sun-bleached and momentarily glowed white as Christian Angels.

After the glare took it back to its Pagan Black, I was smiling like I was a young girl who saw her first Escher drawing, an almost-woman who felt the first wave of acid wash over me, and the moon-lit woman initiated as "Helix" by a wild-haired Faery Wiccan.

Thanks to Universal Mother and my own sweet Mama for this my 35th birthday. I feel young-wild and old-tired and am formed by memories and timeless, sweet moments.Yesterday, mom's birthday, was a softened grief shared by loving and remembering. To the friends who tell me she lives through me, I cannot thank you enough for that precious blessing.

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