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 cooes 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 … Continue reading What the wind wants
writer
Made of ink
Writing is in my bones my platelets made of words. I write with the pens that are my fingers waving sigils in the air. I write with the pens that are my fingers; each finger long bones hollowed out the ink flows through inspired by the guidance by the stories my body holds.
Angela Mason 