It used to be quiet around here. Peaceful.
That was in the long ago time
We were all one, then
Not a matter of belief. A fact.
You could see the Web, plain as day,
spread out across the land.
Nothing frayed, nothing torn.
Just me, and all my Relations.
Weaving the shimmering, beautiful web.
Each shining strand connected to each shining,
Maybe it began with one little fray,
one little link that broke in some insignificant place.
Crevices opened. Cracks.
It doesn't matter what you call me.
I've had a lot of names.
These are my children. Some of them got lost along the way, buried by the years. Some have returned, some are beating like hail on your roof, some are voices howling like coyote in the wilderness,
Some are your own ghosts, wandering through your sleep. They want to come Home.
The Web needs mending.
Rainwalker, Lauren Raine