There is something alive in a feather.  The power of it is

perhaps in its dream of sky, currents of air, and the silence

of its creation.  It knows the insides of clouds.  It carries our

needs and desires, the stories of our brokenness.  It rises and

falls down elemental space, one part of the elaborate world of

life where fish swim against gravity, where eels turn silver as

moon to breed.

How did the feather arrive at the edge of the dirt road where I

live?  How did it fall across and through currents of air?  How

did the feathers survive fire?  This I will never know.  Nor will

I know what voice spoke through my sleep.  I know only that

there are simple powers, strange and real.

-From the books Dwellings and the essay 

The Feathers by Linda Hogan  

THS IZ NT SCIENZ

THS IZ MAGICK!

Getting Elevated

                     GeTTinG 

                                              EleVaTed

Old Woman Nature
naturally has a bag of bones
tucked away somewhere.
a whole room full of bones!
A scattering of hair and cartilage
bits in the woods.
A fox scat with hair and a tooth in it.
a shellmound
a bone flake in a streambank
A purring cat, crunching
the mouse head first,
eating on down toward the tail -
The sweet old woman
calmly gathering firewood in the
moon…
Don’t be shocked,
She’s heating you some soup.

By Gary Snyder

Ghost Dance