Winter Woman has come, her white braids trailing to the ground with the wisdom of her years. Grandmother uses them as paintbrushes, to turn the deep verdant green of the rain-forest to sleepy white.
She brushes the eyes with dreams, in the long nights...for it is in the blessed, welcoming dark that the light is first born.
Grandmother whispers the stories...such has it ever been so...to the sleeping seeds of promise. They will remember as we lean further to the sun and the evening of our days.
Winter Woman sent Eagle before the storm; faith the wind that carried her, while we nestled in the Aerie and let her lift our hearts with the gift of this view.
No matter the season or struggle, we are still children of the Garden...still the grandchildren of all the teaching stories we tell into the long nights. Whether it be tales of the wild world...or of the birth of loving forgiveness...we can understand both freedom and connection when we are stilled in a storm.