Postcard Poem – Cassiopeia

No. 22 - Special, 1916/1917 Georgia O'Keeffe

No. 22 – Special, 1916/1917
Georgia O’Keeffe

This morning I walked outside well before dawn to lay the Fire for the ceremony. The Equinox. The day was utterly still under the dark trees. Over me in the western sky hung the constellation Cassiopeia. As I prepared the fire, brought the wood and the offerings and the ears of blue corn to speak my gratitude for the summer’s labor, I thought of the stars overhead and I remembered a young man I met some years ago on a foot journey into the canyons of southeast Utah. This, too, an offering to Mystery for the generous gifts given at unexpected times in sometimes the most surprising ways. And so today’s poem:



About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
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2 Responses to Postcard Poem – Cassiopeia

  1. wrensong says:

    So kind. It feels good to share them.

  2. you just don’t miss a beat. every post is a beautifully polished stone. there is no pretense, no forced imagery, no wasted word.

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