The Dance
 
Heart open, tender
I come to the forest.
Sanctuary.
Enroute I see travelers 
kneeling at a roadside altar.
Living, loss.
Holding, held.
I am here
with my Light, my Shadow.
Spiritual warriors call to me. 
I study transformation,
warmed by the cloak of reformation.
Deep as dammed water.
Sharp as bared thorn.
Outer bark stripped,
straight as cedar.
Inner flesh softened,
ready to sway.
Mountain’s strength,
Willow’s grace.
Let the Dance begin.
​
© Vonda Witley  2017