In the center of every forest is a well of
sweet water. By the time you reach it, you
will be desperate with thirst. You will have
been walking through the day and into the
night, and the words will have been growing darker around you, and you will have seen no water at all.
And then, a clearing lit by silver light.
You do not see her standing in the
shadows. You cup your shaking hands and
dip into the world. But a bony hand grasps
yours.
Shaken with surprise, you look up.
She is veiled. From beneath the veil
she speaks. Her voice is full of the mystery of endings. She asks what you want.
Water, you begin to say.
Then your heart is flooded with memory and need. Do you remember losses and pain, driven days when you burned with yearning, bleak hopelessness of abandoned dreams. Your parched throat will not let you speak. And there is not time enough to answer, for what you desire has become immeasurably and inexpressibly vast.
She is waiting.
You stand wordless before her.
She opens her arms to you, and suddenly she is all that you desire: arms to hold
you, a breast to weep upon, a murmuring
voice to sing in your ear, a softness that is
more comfort than you have ever known.
She is sweet water in the dark forest.
She is abandoned dreams restored. She is all
the world at once, and all the time you need.
~ Patricia Monaghan, “Crone”, from “Seasons of the Witch”
http://www.patricia-monaghan.com
Tree Weaver 