ROMANCING THE CRONE:......

Another year is ending, & in the cold cracked dawn I look into the mirror of my life & ponder. I see wrinkles, lumps, bumps, saggy bits, all rather like the etchings of the ancient Tor, shaped through aeons by raging storms & unforgiving suns. Sagging breasts, having served their purpose, now at rest from mewling babes & pawing , hungry men, Varicose veins run like African rivers down the length of my tired legs, reminding me that I am still alive. I look down at my gnarled misshapen feet whom have taken me through deserts, across oceans, roaming this earth in my seeking. I look upon them as my travelling family, each toe a member, related to each other by blood, sinew, tendon, always together. Now these feet resembling roots, want to stay where they are, dig into the earth & belong. I feel the wild winds of Winter in my hair of snow, soft & silver like my mother Luna, the Moon. I peer deep into my old, wise eyes, the delta from whence rivers flowed with a myriad of joys, & many pains, now as arid as Kalahari stones, windows of my history, where I see my past, my present, & what´s to come. My voice is no longer the tinkling of Spring bells, but now has the melodic eloquence of the wailings of childbirth, & the songs of lovers long gone. I smile an old smile at what I see. No Botox, lifting’s, nips, tucks, & fillers for me, I am happy at who I am. Folk may ask, Is this the rambling- be-petaled voice of consolation? Sop to my sad befuddled ageing? No, I am romancing the Crone, embracing the woman she was, is, & will be, & thanking her for her wisdom to grow.