I placed my feet to the cold ground of January. Readied with my lessons from a powerful transitional year.
Carrying my intentions and wishes to make manifest, like hand-hewn candles forged in middle Earth, held within womb and marrow through the frosted pitch in winter’s forest and the swollen sun of summer.
I was resolute with the scabbed-over wounds I’d licked all year, like a kitten nursing a hurt paw back to health.
Eager to place this stored energy into its rightful path, pouncing plant leaves with curious abandon, kneading tiny biscuits from a newly found consistency in my inner golden batter.
Awaiting the signal for safety of the communal celebration to light those long-held candles, serve warm plates of biscuits as our collective stories are shared in real time ’round the fire at long last…