softly and with humility I tread on this earth
here she is, the crone, softly singing, leaving an everlasting mark on the souls of the listeners.
I was in Arcadia-literal - real arcadia, a sea of mountains and trees in the heart of the Peloponnese
we told stories in the forest, sang songs in the taverns
a workshop in the woods: we tied leaves and twigs and flowers collected from the ground with coloured yarn, spinning storywebs, and hung them on the trees. a twig for the prince, a flower for the third daughter, bark for the crone, the witch. a sickle shaped dead branch for Charon, death himself.
then we beat drums and told the story of inanna's descent, the fox, naming the world
now we have gone, leaving the lightest of footprints, carrying our fugitive marks inside of us. the forest is there dancing its skyward dance.
one day it will be gone too, dust or charcoal, who knows
why do we make so much effort to find "fast" dyes and colours-an illusion of eternity, false as false can be when a moment of true beauty can last forever, there, where it counts, in our souls.
5 comments:
You write beautifully. I wish I had been there!
jasmine- thanks. I thought of you, and wished the same wish. did you like the song?
I did. I didn't understand the lyrics but the rythming was gentle and lulling, reminiscent of bygone times.
My landlord is Greek, he spends most of his time in Greece now. He is in a Greek band and plays a Greek guitar. I think he would like your story telling. He always has time for a cup of coffee and a long chat exchanging tales....
I like the tune and the rhythm, and although I don't understand the words the title tells so much.
lovely written,i feel the energy of those moments:))
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