pilgrimage

in this time between seasons
as the wheel turns
and the days darken,
the cold becomes turgid
then flaccid
and again–

disorienting to this body
that craves comfort.

on a pilgrimage
in the forest
i am held
and feel the soft earth
‘neath my feet.

my warm breath
is a bouquet of white flowers
greeting the cold.

i am mostly alone
save fellow travelers
with their canine companions.

all greet me
with pleasure
and i, them
with delight.

traveling onward
i notice i choose
the more difficult path–
the steeper hill,
or the place where obstacles
challenge me.

stacking stones
for other pilgrims,
I set magical intentions
with each stone I carefully
balance.

talking to the trees,
my heart weeps
with gladness
at the sheer beauty,
magic,
and grace
of
being alive.