reflections of the branches

dance over me in a prickly hug

my hair entangled

the woods catching me

as I walk

green buds giggling at me

the crunch of my boots on old grass

giving way to the moist ones coming

going away the brittle brown

yet still they reach

this is how it was at home today

I am the priestess of this place

reaching for signs of summer

but still too dank and cold

memories of ice heavy on the brow

the white was here not long ago

evidence is in the creek bed

a steady stream of blackened water

gurgling with frogs and toads

squirrels dart along side me

and I wonder where the deer are

somewhere my people are playing the drum

somewhere there is a fire burning

somewhere my lover is leaping

and I am not forgotten

the first flower I saw:

brilliant purple iris

a golden and white star

inside

peeking at me

stung my eyes

not yet adjusted to light

I'm not really alone, and yet I am the lone witch in these woods

I am the woman you'd see haunting the cemetery

but this place is alive and growing

the only stones here line the creek

the only ghosts the fallen trees

but even they provide life

I can spy the mice in the shelter 

I am still hugging the shadows

enjoying the chill

curled up to pillow

deep in bed

sucking in the water

waiting for the sun

sleeping not dead 

I share this with you tonight. 

Reaching outward like a branch does. 

My fingertips upward beginnings to bud. 

I feel grown green inside.

Like the migraine I had yesterday

was only a sign I'm sprouting horns.

   The creek's edge will soon be lined with bugs.

My arms itch after that thought. 

Will you be here,

next time 

to hold my hand 

when I walk?

Or

will we

link arms

like sisters

do?

and skip!