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Tracie Skarbo was motivated to write by her father, who was her biggest supporter. “He was always behind me, rallying me on with my writing. I would always see him with a book in hand. He gave me a great appreciation for the written word, and the power and responsibility that writers have to shape those who read their words. He also taught me to respect nature and to value the beauty within it; my reflections on my environment are just an extension of this.” Skarbo was raised on Vancouver Island and is working on her next two books.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

The Center of Things

I open my closed eyes
Upon dreamscapes
A snow covered wonderland

The old growth forest calls to me
And sings of the Fey
Who hand-fast under their boughs

I breathe frost air into
My lungs and am charged by the force
Of the living giants

My gaze shifts and he is there
The black wolf
With grayed muzzle

Fervent yellow-eyed stare pinning
Me to where I stand
Orion reflecting off snowflakes

He warns me of the fox
That is said to frequent the grove
Calling him a trickster, a rouge charlatan

His breath
Mixes heat against cold
Converging and dancing in mist

As I listen to his silent words
I am overcome with

The resonating cognizance
Between us
Feels like a long forgotten embrace

He tells me of the fox’s
Wicked ways
Warning me not to be fooled by imitation

I must look into the heart of the matter
As truth is only found
In the center of things

Like the center rings of the trees
And the ring of Fey
This is where the fountain flows

I thank him for his wisdom
And in a blink of an eye he was gone
In my heart he still lingers…

1 comment:

  1. The center of the tree holds the ancient way; be it Eastern or Western, the shamans were all in vast communication and agreement about "reality."