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Give me the strength and the grace to get through it, this shedding that happens all at once, this brick wall that falls down upon me that I can’t get out of its way fast enough.   Even the snake, miracles of color that explore the earth on their bellies, seekers of heat, shed slowly, so slowly, not allatonce in this raw way that I do, sometimes.

When we shed we are vulnerable, it hurts, and we do not wish anyone to see our new, naked selves until the shedding is done. We are ready. We are become.  Even we do not know what color the goddess will paint us (or will we choose our own color to spite her like some tattoo that daddy hates?)

I wish I could shed slowly like sleepy trees in summer, one scarlet leaf, one saffron, calling it a day, leaping from the belly of a C-130, parachuting to the ground, nestling in the grass, one great fall at a time. Keep my shy birds hid until their true songs are ready to be sung.

Solstice, grant me strength and grace to get through the long, dark nights (long and dark, as it should be!)  I think I am ready for snow now, a cold white blanket to see where she been and where she’s bound to be. Allatonce.