Winter is the womb where Spring finds the room, to give way to Summer where she is in full bloom. Then falls into Autumn like the leaves to their resting tomb. Home again. We find ourselves. In the deep Winter of our womb.
Guest Writer This Week! Featuring a poem about women who not only run with wolves, they dance.
A quote from the inner landscape - the wild that brings you home.
To those who dare to wander and find, your truth to no longer feel hopelessly blind.