Annunciation

Through a thicket of hawthorn, wild rose brambles, and gnarled apple tree branches tipped with downy buds, I find my way to the wild place where I pray.

I’ve come to the creek to weave my prayers into its warp of water whispering over stones. There I sit upon a large rock that holds the chill of the past season. The morning sun cuts through the canyon and warms my face.

Between sun and stone, between two seasons, a shiver runs through me from perineum to crown. My midline ripples like a serpent. Equinox becomes embodied and spring becomes somatized.

A throbbing chorus of birds join my recitations. Wrens whistle. Jays shriek. Dippers click. Each of us announce the Lady by our preferred name for Her. And She rouses from Her slumber.

Catherine Brooks, 2022

Photo: Catherine Brooks