Samhain.

the night when

the veil between worlds is the thinnest,

when witches ride

hard across the night,

when the dead surge to rescue the living

from their mire,

when the full moon

calls us to wilderness,

wakes our wolvish sensing to the

fleshy,

rotten,

scat,

of fabrication,

and manipulation.

You may think this locking down

is of your making,

but we who know,

are hibernating.

Waiting.

I curl my tail around me,

warmed

by others

at my back,

breathing in

moist

dark

earth

as we gather energy

and lie beneath the wasteland.

knowing where the chalice lies

and that we will rise to claim it

in the spring.

 

(Photo: Victoria Macken)