Tuesday, January 18, 2011


The moon is calling. 
Will you answer tonight?
Will you dance in the field?

The stars are singing. 
Will you listen tonight?
Will you dance in the field?

Hush now!
The breeze is whispering. 
See me tonight. 
Come dance in the field.  


and the cold  
creeps under the skin
drilling deeper 
touching the marrow
never stops
crawling the blood
seeking out the source
invasion of the heart
to frost on eyes
no longer seeing
will the sun
never warm 


Wednesday, January 12, 2011


Naddnē sat on her heels. Among the rubble of an ancient landslide. Hardy grasses trying to hold on at the high altitude, roots crumbling the broken stone into smaller broken stones. The valley below was her view. Treetops just visible above the milky haze.
The mist. The damn mist. There for almost one hundred years. Since the day she set it free. The day she broke it's bonds, and broke her bond with her people.
The day she left the valley, not by choice.

She remembered that day, and when she thought about it, her belly clenched. As if struck by a knife. Her people did not chase her away. Didn't tell her to go. They simply turned away. She didn't exist to them. This was no longer her home. They were no longer her people. Her family. Her friends.

And now. She had come back. To right her wrong. Return the mist to it's source. Return the valley to it's people.