THE WEAVE:
On the Island, Arachne weaves,
as Athena takes a breather.
She steps out onto the beach,
speaking spells to herSelf…
The Shores of Nows The Ocean waves, whether or not you choose to listen. A show of Force; creating and un-creating each moment. The sound of a turning World. Silence exists someplace, just not Here. The shift from Island to Tideland is both soothing and overwhelming, at the same Time. A reminder it is All happening at once. No need to piece each Now together in a string of linear Tales. Time is Spirals, laid into One-another. No need to wait, When you are of the Fae. You birth each moment from a Springing thought. A science, yet the mortals call it Magick. I will rest Here, scrawling Nows on the husks of broken mussels. I will dream a life, incited by the rumbling tide; sounds pushing through my veins like shells, sea glass, and pebbles, churned to softened grains of stories on my shore.
Planetary Signatures 