The wild inside me lives on the edge of the stream where gnarly roots and bracken dip their toes in the water.
I follow my shaggy wolf heart down to the rocky crevices that run with the mountain’s medicine.
Black fox feet, all muscle and movement, awakening to the call of the poetry that beats in my belly.
Down here there is no time but the present. And the arrows that show the way are drawn with twigs.
The rushing brushing music of the waterfall carries my thoughts to another lifetime, when I was always in this: fully immersed in the cradle of life, death and rebirth; cycling its deep meaning into my bones.