In a mantle of leaves and wet moss we dream in silence In the depths of our core nothing moves Only the beat of the earth lifting the veil of inner truth and hopeful returns
In the dark lands of no lies where fears cease to be lives a knowing that whispers Amongst shimmers of certainty wise appalachian women, weavers of spells, long gone tales, shadow riders and truth tellers weave silver rays of prophecies In the faraway lands of no fears - neither of life nor death - eager to bow I wait for thou eager to know away I go
And so it was Solstice and I went to a cueva to sleep and this Queen of the night who blossoms once a year this night blooming cacti from the tribe Cereeae welcomed me at the door and by morning she was gone