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44 Autumns

44 Autumns, Winters, Springs and Summers.

I feel the years differently now. I see the deep colors of the seasons, brightening and fading. I feel how quickly they pass into each other bleeding light into dark into light. How our roles in life shift, how the crone looms closer.

My breath is still mine- my body strong but lush with curves, my hair streaked with strands of silver and the lines deepening in my face. I breathe into this body, this new role in motherhood and life.

I do not know how to stitch the broken hearts of boys. I hold thread and needle searching for the ragged edges but they cannot be braided whole by my hands. I can only hold the container of parts, protecting them, the wolf mother, loving them as they are, in their pain until the healing can be born.

The wheel turns, I go under, into the dark spaces. I am no stranger to this space, my visits are more frequent with each turning. The shadow brings wholeness, the light cannot fill every space, the voids can deliver us, reminders of how deeply we can love and how connected we are both above and below.

I greet this year as mother to myself and the mother of young wolves. I listen to the sounds of the wild season, my season and I hear my name whispered in the wind. I welcome this year with my heart full and ragged along the edges, opening to what is possible. I can hold this space for those broken parts and healing hearts for as long as they need me too.

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