Winter Solstice notes, part deux.
Yesterday I left you with the picture of me standing with coffee in hand looking out the south west corner window at the gray light of a cloudy dawn. So I'm standing there and suddenly out of the east a gray crane flies directly overhead, so low that I can clearly make out the toes of his feet.
Dawn, the Solstice, the visitation of a crane.
Gotta be something there, something the world is trying to say. Telling me, in the way the world speaks, something I must focus on, to think about, to tell you. Our ancestors would have thought so. They wouldn't have missed the hint.
Our grandmother's grandmothers would figure this out and tell the story. Maybe that is the story, right there.
Listen to the world, tell the story you hear. Make sense of it.
What Would the Grandmothers Do?