Recently I spent an amazing shamanic weekend in Southern Cumbria, reconnecting with the energy of the last wolf to be killed in England, which it is said, happened in that area. During that weekend, I was inspired to write the following words. I hope you enjoy them:
Silently she calls through the night. Amber eyes glint golden in the moonlight and she whispers wordlessly in my soul, 'Come. Come now. It is time.'
I rise, shivering in the chill wind that cuts across the restless sea, and I move to the door. There she stands, proud and strong, silhouetted darker against the star-filled sky, her thick coat brushed silver by the light of a million diamond pinpricks.
'Come,' she calls again and I follow, unheeding of the cold that seeps into my naked feet and rises up into the flesh and bones that cover my soul. I am near now, hearing her breath, soft in the stillness, strong in its life. She draws me closer. I cannot resist even if I choose to - and I do not choose to. She has come, as I knew she would, the promise of a thousand years held sacred, now fulfilled.
I have long waited for this moment. What will it bring? I do not know. I cannot know, for this is a path that none before me have walked. And yet I do not hesitate. I have no fear.
I am near now. So near. The warmth of her breath caresses my frozen skin and her earthy scent fills my lungs. Kneeling, I embrace her, my arms locked around her powerful shoulders, mt heartbeat meeting hers. 'Welcome,' she says. 'Welcome home.'
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