Marjorie A Buettner

A Winter Count

The young fox, copper red against white snow, pounces in midair and hangs suspended in time. His image revolves and evolves in my mind's eye; at times I become the fox looking at a woman in the window; at other times, I am the woman once again, looking at the fox spring effortlessly into the air. These images chase one another – uroborus-like in nature – and intermingle. And I am amazed that somehow, late in life, I have finally found my spirit guide.

winter solstice –
wooly-bear caterpillar
turns in on itself