Homecoming: Wolf and Goddess Once More

My man’s dead grandfather is calling him
Home to a farm in Minnesota.
A fleece of snow hides the scars of a tractor.
Ploughshare tracks of fate in his palm.
Ley lines, fey lines, bloodlines, ploughlines.
We lay in bed feeling the tug of the north.
The snowfall call of a land as mythical to me
As Avalon. The runes are cast,
This extradition will end. We will return to the soil.
Wergild has been paid, a homecoming is bought.
Light the heartfire and become who we are
Fated to be. Wolf and Goddess once more.

Wolf

Wolf is the smell of rain, the sound of thunder.  Wolf is pranayama.  Wolf is elemental: air, guide and blade.  Mystical Shaman. Ridiculous beast with lolling tongue and rolling eyes. 

Wolf has been between my sheets, paper first then linen,  since childhood.  He is storybook (all the better to see you with) and yet he is as real as the boy next door. 

This is Wolf.  Unlike Goddess, Wolf is more than name only.  He is essence, id, alter ego.  He is myth and legend.  He is archetype. 

(He is looking over my shoulder as I type)

Although Wolf will never speak here, if you can’t hear his breath in every space between every word, you aren’t listening closely enough.

Goddess

I am Goddess. 

I am not “a” goddess or “the” goddess. 

Let’s get that clear from the start – I am not claiming to be, as Webster’s Dictionary defines either ’a female god’ or ’a woman whose great charm or beauty arouses adoration’.

Goddess is simply what I am called, like some women are called Collette and others Emma.  I also have othernames but they are stories for otherdays.

Wolf is more complicated.  His story is next.