The Old Woman and The Barefoot Maiden (Continuation)

Musti got up as if beckoned and sat by her feet. 

The Old Woman began to chant familiar spells, 

her words running together quickly at times, 

other times her voice rose sharp and loud, 

then hushed quietly, the words barely discernible. 

"Auta Luonto, aina voimaa te vereni vahvenmaksi…

Help me, Nature Spirit, give me power, 

make my blood run strong and stronger... 

nosta neito …raise the maiden.."

 She tossed small bleached ptarmigan bones on a white reindeer skin. 

Looking closely at the pattern the bones told, 

she read the map of the coming Spring.     

    

A young woman stood on the horizon, 

poised by the kirjokansi, the dome of stars.

As the Old Woman muttered under her breath, 

the only sound outside her window was the creak of snow, 

the laugh of Pakkanen, the Frost. 

Her death was close but she was not afraid. 

She knew that when she laid her old bones on the reindeer skin, 

Black Swan would come for her, 

come to take her across the River of Death to Tuonela.

To Be Continued ....

I See The Beauty In You

The Old Woman and The Barefoot Maiden (Continuation)

It began slowly. 

First, her step slowed. 

Then, her feet felt heavy, clumsy. 

Her black dog, Musti, 

watched from the door 

as she muttered to herself, cursing herself

mihinkā ihiminen…. Voi Hyvānen aika, aina hukassa 

Her memory had begun to fail her. 

She misplaced things.

She began repeating herself—

and not the old stories she learned as a young girl 

listening to Muori and Faari.

Old Lady Larin once said 

that on the longest darkest night of nights 

in Talvi Kuu—Winter Month—

one could easily find the beginning of the yarn.

What story had she yet to tell?

She busied herself in her pieni mȍkki, her small cabin.

Pian, Pian green would have its song.

Soon, soon young girls would run out into the nightless night, 

trailing white bedsheets, seeking lovers. 

Her twisted fingers reached into the back of the cupboard.

She would need her heaviest blankets now. 

Her felted boots. 

Woolen undershirt. 

She pulled out the red socks with the curious markings

 that she had knit many years ago 

when her fingers, her step, and her laugh were quick. 

Now, her eyes only saw what was not done, 

what was done wrong.  

Peace, Joy and Love

Merry Christmas

Hauskaa Joulua

The joy of the season

to you and your family

May Peace resonate in every corner

of our beautiful troubled planet

Peace, Joy and Love

Katja

The Old Woman and the Barefoot Maiden (Continuation)

She gathers her inspirations 

through one last glimmering brilliant red-gold dance. 

Wind (Tuuli) kicks up and sings a bolder song 

as she whirls and twirls to its northerly rhythm.  

It bites her heels. 

Like a frenzied wolf chasing its prey, 

she spins and spins 

until every last red, gold and yellow leaf 

has shimmied back onto Earth. 

She spirals and spirals into a Dance of Death.

As Silence enters her, she comes to a standstill. 

She knows she must enter the Earth 

to create space for new beginnings.

No niin, nyt on Talvi. Yes, so now it is Winter.

Winter is not the time for new beginnings—

that is Spring’s work. 

Winter’s work was death, 

the stillness from whose decay leaked 

all sorts of unasked lessons. 

To Be Continued ...

The Old Woman and The Barefoot Maiden (Continuation)

As we gather here today, 

Autumn’s frolic of yellow, orange and red 

has entered a deep dream. 

Her spiral dance to Earth has made way 

for the silent steps of Winter’s waltz 

where she once again wraps herself in white furs, 

slows down her tempo, 

and glides across icy mirrors of reflection 

into the cave of introspection. 

Before her return to Darkness ,

 she dances one last rapturous tanssi.

There is much to gather before she can greet the Great Bear 

in the uppermost branches of the Tree of Life.

There are mushrooms to pick, 

flax to spin into linen. 

Honey mead calls her name, 

reminding her of her Vappu ritual. 

The seeds of her labour are ready to burst forth.  

She dances faster, with more determination 

than she did in the summertime.

To Be Continued ...

The Old Woman and the Barefoot Maiden

It started like this.

My sisters, Della and Taina, and myself

write articles for the quarterly 

Finnish-American newspaper

New World Finn

Usually we take turns writing an article 

but for the Autumn 2011 issue

we focussed on the seasons

and how they manifest

in the boreal forests of Thunder Bay

we wrote round and round

where one sister would write a paragraph or so

then pass it on to the next sister

who would integrate the last sentence 

into the beginning of her writing

and who would then pass it on 

to the next sister

who would integrate the last sentence ......

so it kept going round and round

until we got this ...

Round and round the seasons go like a circular dance that never changes.   

Spring follows Winter follows Autumn follows Summer follows Spring follows …

Repeatedly, the seasons dance this sequence of movements.       

Taking her cue from the spiral dance, 
Crow crafts a cyclical pattern to build her nest,

weaving roots, flower stems, dandelions, feathers, moss--

even strips of plastic from discarded grocery bags.

Round and round, layer upon layer she weaves 
until the nest forms a perfect circle with no beginning or end.

Along the north shore, since we were young girls,

we sisters have looked forward to the choreography of seasons, 
to each season’s rhythmic beauty.

The change in seasons is one reason we love living by the boreal forest, 
and when away from home, are compelled to return again and again.

The seasons repeat in our lives in a never-ending story.

To Be Continued ...

The Old Woman and the Barefoot Maiden

will be excerpted

in following blog posts

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