I have been given a vine. It’s long and unwieldy. I study its length, look around at the overwhelming mass from which it stems. I see others with their ends and middles and off-shoots. I begin to weave forward and over as best I can with the thickness of this root. Others around me do…
Author: TiffanyNarron
Holding You…
The forest rests its wet threaded branches with morning dew. Altogether showered and ready for their day. Gauzy golden light held within wet needles. Wrapping itself around sticky branches in warm lemon layers, sheltering you. Toes touch into the thick mud holding you, holding we altogether. To slide and slip and shift our sweaters and…
You See?
Paws tossle thick mounds of clay, unearthing possibility. Digging away the dark, burrowing my worthy rabbit body back into its breathing hedge above. A familiar wild, wanting of my soft feathered body as I am of its thick familiar tufts of unruly wild-grass. See, I sing hum in my mothering lullaby, like a tuning fork…
Morning Chores Turned Communion
We trudged through the snow as if it were a morning chore at first.On our long list of honey-dos.Bearing the weight of a brisk February wind on our faces.Whipping them into strawberry moon pies.Tiny foot pockets of deer feet and onion sprigs announcing themselves as we walked through.The valley holding us real careful,walking warm broth…
Rest and Ramblin’…
Winter books are full. See you in the spring. The country calls and fills the calendar of things, rest and ramblin. My vehicle is a horse, rared and valiant. My phone a rotary with no time stamp or feeds. My lover made me salmon soup, which may take weeks to slow slurp as I please….
Held Within Womb and Marrow
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…
Stories with Elmer Hall of the Historic Sunnybank Inn
This piece was written for the Hot Springs N.C. Tourism Association in the summer of 2020 and can be found on their website here: “Where the Appalachian Trail Leads…” On a warm October afternoon, I walk up to the side porch of Hot Spring’s oldest and most well-known home, The Sunnybank Inn. Having been closed…
Dancing Before the Dawn
Don’t let the daylight come, with its demands and schedules to keep. I’m just fine here diligently plodding along by candlelight. Barefoot and outstretched, enough space in my chest to go on and set me off to soar gently above that pond, croak my cares in a guttural night song to that bullfrog in there…
On Trust and Moving Slow
Watching a Bluejay dance so gently on a frosted pumpkin rind. I study her feet moving in December’s pace as I follow fluffy white tracks up and around. Patches of green clover, of summer’s fertility, tucked safely within. Just the show of trust in a long-standing partnership I’ve been waiting to witness. All through the…
Flowers for the Unknown…
Went down to the river to watch its shimmer.Sunlight dances in ripples you know.Teasing, as it rests its golden round in the dark. Lifting you as it breathes itself back into center.Again again! We sing out, breast bare, basking in its sensual haze.A warm reprieve from the walking and wailing on unsteady ground, bundled in…
Tiffany Narron 