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WildWitch

After many little trips down to the bay area and Santa Cruz (and points more distant too) in 2015, I am reminded how easy it is to get from HERE to THERE. Perhaps it is possible to have both: to revel and rebel in the urban spaces that glitter with grit and electricity, and to rest, write, rejuvenate, and root in the wilds that entwine my heartblood.

This country Witch is still really in love with these backwoods byways. The dripping green of it all. The vast and lovely quiet. The wild shoots springing forth in the greenway outside my window.

I am grateful for this roof over my head, the roots I have grown into this very land. I am grateful for how the expansive quiet fosters my creative process and holds my tender heart safe.

While city dreams beckon at times, city whispers often truly feel like siren cries (and I am on a ship, with wax-stopped ears), and siren wails (and I miss the quiet even after a couple of days). THERE is a phantom oasis, a mirage, when I imagine myself thirsty in the desolation.

HERE it is raining, and with the Earth I am renewed. All is clean and quiet, rain diamonds sparkle in the dim light on the needles of comforting firs.

For the foreseeable future, I’ll be out here in the wilds, my hair wet and feet reveling in cold mud.

Holler if you need me.

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