High Wake up to the world all around you your heart and your spirit are free accept your mistakes don’t worry try to live try to breathe try to be. Find your peace in the center of chaos listen when you can’t find the words swallow your pride tame your ego make friends with the trees and the birds. Fly high on the wings of your ancestors grow up and find love and find light believe in the flip side of evil seek some answers know your truths do what’s right. ~Becky Robbins
It’s a wondrous night. The moon is full and framed by branches pregnant with fat buds. A perfect balance of stars and clouds, orange and mauve in the moonrise. There’s a warm gusty wind rustling and bending the pines. And it’s so bright, almost as bright as day, without all the colors. I get the sense that everything around me is awake. It’s like a swell of movement surging from the darkness between the trees. No one out there will sleep tonight. I hear yowling and growling coming from the hedgerow. Songbirds are chirping and trilling and hopping from branch to branch. Woodcock are performing noisy mating rituals in the field. The spring air carries a mysterious sweetness – intriguing, almost irresistible. The primal part of me inhales deeply, wishing to follow that damp sweetness wherever it leads. To slip into the woods and go wild. Rage and run – shake off the long cold winter in a fevered, frenzied prowl. Come home at dawn, leaves and twigs in my hair, panting and muddy, eyes flashing.
The shadows in a cloud passing above the moon form, in perfect puffy letters, “NAY”. I imagine it’s a message from the heavens and try to figure out which question in my life it might be the answer to. The wind breaks the cloud into squarish bits, like cracked mud at the bottom of a dried stream. Every time I’m about to turn and go home I hear a new sound in the woods and the breeze rises and the pines rustle and bend again and the clouds streak and puff and new stars twinkle into view. I won’t rush it. This is a night to be savored.
Fox curled pointed nose on warm red fur scent of the sun and the earth a dry den dug into the hillside But spring is here. Wake up, foxes! Run and jump upon my memory. Wake me up, foxes. And under a painted sky blinking first stars I will find all that I lost in a wet meadow somewhere north under the sky of purity. The taste of the Real still on my tongue. Awake. ~Becky Robbins