This poem arose from an experience I had at This Earth Gathering, 2018. We were gathered around the fire, cloaked in darkness and sharing songs we had learned on our travels. A wonderful, wise elder shared a song about witches and danced around the fire as she led us drumming and singing ancient words. I wonder how many other elders have passed on their songs and wisdom around campfires through the ages? I will never forget the fierce, wild, gracefulness of that dancing, elder woman.
For all of the wonderful, witchy, wise elders I have met on my travels.
Firelight creates canyons in the wise lines of your face as you dance around the hearth singing long forgotten songs of our sisters long since passed.
Every time I see you, my mind races to a woodland clearing and you, dear crone, are there. Grandmother tree. Elder.
With your deeply lined bark and your time battled stance. Timeless, time worn, time perfected.
But then I am back at the fireside, lost in the beauty of your dance.