http://home.earthlink.net/~deanna1jc/ 

 

Our corn crib(C)Moondove 2004

 The Crone (c)Moondovedjc1997 to present

It is fall. The days grow shorter and there is a fresh crispness in the air that heralds the approaching of winter's cold and snow filled days. The trees have shed their leaves and the fields that were, such a short time ago, filled with abundance are now brown and covered with wrinkled and crackley residues of that which was green and swaying in the warm summer breezes. The ground still holds the memory of fresh seeds and small hearty seedlings that took nourishment from it. The ground also holds the memory of it's own creation and although much time has past, it still feels the juices of life flowing through it. Not unlike the crone.

The crone walks across the land heading for an outcropping of rock that looks as though it blends with the horizon. It is there that she will feel grounded and watch the cinematic chronicles of her life through her minds eye. She is one with the earth and has watched it cycle through the wheel of the year her entire life. She has watched it become fertile and seen it's abundance and has watched as that abundance withered and died only to be reborn again. She has risen early this day, sharp of mind, intent on drawing all she can from this day.

She reaches the base of the rock and peers up looking for the flat area she usually sits upon. Ahh yes, there it is, but has it always been so high? Or has her perception of it's placement been altered by the years. She slowly climbs, one small step at a time, and feels the protest from her body. She laughs, remembering how she used to run up this rock when her limbs were supple and her bones didn't ache. Her body bends lower as the climb gets steeper and she can see her long gray hair fall along the side of her face. When did it turn to silver like the moon? Her memory holds a picture of long dark brown hair that shimmered in the moon light and the sunlight. She chuckles as she compares her hair and its color change to that of the leaves on the trees.

She has come to her spot. She stands for a moment taking in all the sights and smells around her. She raises her arms and turning, honors all the directions before sitting down on the rock to watch the sunrise. This is where she will begin. The sunrise. Her sunrise, the day her life began. Was it really so long ago? Pictures of that time show a smiling, clear skinned, fat cheeked baby. A seedling. Ready to grow, another of the Mother's children. She thinks back to her maiden time. A time of innocence and learning.

The wonderment she felt then, and now, of watching a flower bloom, of hearing the song of a river, the hush and pebble trickle of a light rain, the crackle in the air when lightening lit up the sky, and the power she felt from a burst of thunder. Yes, she thinks, it's all there yet in my mind. She moves on in her thoughts. She chuckles again as she remembers her first romance. She remembers how hot her blood felt and the quivers she experienced in her stomach and loins. She remembers tangled limbs and feeling as though she'd been transported to a place where no one but she had ever been. Giggling now, she thinks, how foolish I must have sounded when I talked of it to others, but oh how wonderful that feeling was. It was as though the whole world had become more alive. I was blossoming, but as yet didn't know that I was only still a bud. The poignancy of these thoughts brings a tear to her eyes, but doesn't erase the smile from her face. My body would lead some to think that perhaps I've forgotten these things, but no, the thoughts, the heat, the wonderment, and the power are still there.

Her thoughts move on, like the sun has moved across the sky. She gazes askance at the sun and notes its fullness during midday and it reminds her of her mother time. She remembers her body cycling, becoming full with the tides and then emptying. She leans back on her hands and surveys her body. Her breasts, once full and high, now remind her of the sails of a ship with out a wind. Her eyes shift to her stomach. What was once taut and flat is now lose and covered with the striated marks of child bearing. But oh, she thinks, how wonderful it was. She can still remember feeling the first quickening of new life in her body. Her body seemed to ripen like a melon in the midday sun. As she watches the sun travel across the sky toward its daily apex she vividly remembers her children's laughter and how it would make a childlike bubble grow deep in her chest to hear their sounds. She sits on the rock and reminisces about her Mother years as the sun crosses the sky to the west.

She looks across the land below to where it joins with the setting sun. Just a few years ago, or so it seems to her, she was just beginning to reach the same point in her life. Her tides had stopped, although they still whispered to her within. Her mind became more introspective and she craved the ability to understand all. She recalls how she made up her mind to walk directly into her cronehood as opposed to running from it. She sees the day coming to an end and can now see the moon rising over her. Has she ever been afraid of the dark she wonders. Yes, maybe when she was a maiden and didn't fully understand the cycles of life. The darkness enfolds her and the moon warms her heart. The sounds of the day have quieted and the silence of the night touches her deeply.

She remembers the face that looked back at her from the mirror this morning. The twinkle in the eyes was there, but little else that would make anyone believe that she had once been that small child. The skin, so flawless then, was now covered with wrinkles. The full and fertile body of her Mother self was now bent with the burdens of time. Ahh, yes, she remembers the face that looked back at her this morning and she smiles. She is life and she is beautiful. She is the crone.

sign my guestbook?  Mail