Death and Rebirth

“The wind whispers in the salt marsh, “Open up to receive the seed.” Consecrated the Life Givers repose to take the consensual host, free and alive. Animals blessed with flowers and smoke are released to the hills to range in the bliss. Grain lost to the Winter Wait explodes to tender, quivering chartreuse. The willow rustles, on its shiny crimson length perch the amorous dances of the lapwings. We offer ourselves to the beauty, praying for blessings of gentle rain, bursting kernels, and the warm breath of our Mother. Green tongues of cattail poke through the spring thaw like the secret kisses of young girls nudging the lips of their lovers. Birth Clans whirl, faces hidden behind their ancestral beginnings, rods rigid to the imperative. Our people dance the delirious welcome to summer.

“The Bard grunts in breathless gyration, teasing the inflamed young ones and igniting the recollection in those no longer driven by fire. He pauses as though inspired by a forgotten memory; scratching his chin he turns to face the Valley of the Caves. His arm raised he sights past its length as though it were an arrow drawn on the string of a bow, and points with a crooked finger toward the Predators and Great Flesh Eaters. Crushed under the draft of his unblinking stare the Winter Wait flickers out and the Death Clans, spent in the dreamtime, die back to the Mother.”

Excerpt: Ancestral Airs


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