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

Familiarity

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…