June 21

[Darkling Light]

I wonder how many snows ago Moondog and I dreamed together of Gobetween?  Then, like now, it was summer solstice. I stand here on the river road waiting impatiently for them to arrive. In this high country the air is always moving as though it seeks the answer to some pressing mystery. The trees are speaking of it, gossiping about the wind’s impetuous nature. I am impetuous too; the wind is medicine to me with this incarnation of an antelope buck that thrives in the birth of summer. But when the snow flies again I am the water that moves clandestinely beneath the ice, a magic maker cloaked in the finery of Clan Female, flowing in the season of dreams. I no sooner find comfort in my seasonal self when the season cycles to another and a sleeping nymph awakens. Dancing Grass knows the truth of it, so does Moondog, as does Gobetween. My life is one of motion, wind and water. Moondog brings the fire that warms the shelter of his love for me. And Gobetween is the constancy of Earth, the tether that ties us to the promise inherent in the mystery of our lives.

Have I spotted them up ahead? My heart is pounding! I see something or someone. Drawn to the hope I move a few paces closer to scrutinize. I move again, I am walking, swiftly. Surely, it is them. I am noticed, one of them waves, Moondog waves! I am running, they are running. We collide. We cling, we weep, and we laugh at our foolishness, wiping away tears. Solstice has come, we are together again.

I take the heavy pack from Gobetween’s back and we make our way to our Oak lodge. Dancing Grass is there, tending a fire, making a homecoming feast. He will move off soon to some secret life he lives in this village while the three of us tangle up, dress in fancy clothes, and dance to honor the sun. We’ll spend long afternoons with Moondog’s mother after challenging mornings in council with the clans. But at night we’ll hold our own council in the arms of each other, sweaty, salty, clinging and asleep in a womb of our own creation, impregnated by cosmic glitter and the love songs of mountain spirits.

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Responses to “June 21”

  1. Angela Cheetham Wilkinson June 22nd, 2013 - 8:34 am

    Again I’m reading words I could not have written.
    Not because I don’t have the words.
    Not because I can’t arrange my words in a way that’s expressive.
    Because these words come from a deep place, one I don’t own – a place I haven’t been, people I haven’t seen, life I haven’t shared.
    Yet there’s a link between my soul and the soul of the writer – that’s where I find my understanding of this work.