What the wind wants ties me to spirit, brushing past my ears she takes me aside wrapping my shoulders in a shawl, yarn spun with cloud, she coos towards me "show them you have something they want."wondering through air, kicking up dirt, I ask the trees for advice what must I do for the power … Continue reading What the wind wants
writer
Made of ink
Writing is in my bonesmy platelets made of words.I write with the pens that are my fingerswaving sigils in the air. I write with the pens that are my fingers; each finger long boneshollowed outthe ink flows throughinspired by the guidance by the stories my body holds.
Angela Mason 