I walk through the marshes, the coming dawn warming my face and hair. The wind chills, my shoes and the hem of my black dress soak in the dew of this clearing, and I swear I'm wandering into a swamp. But I keep going.
Willows brush my hands. Nettles catch my dress, but I barely feel anything but the glowing sun fighting through the fresh glacial air. To have no thought, no worries, to just live in this world as it is now. I'm like a sleepwalker, like someone in a trance, under a strange enchantment.
Then a fluttering thought stumbles through, like a midnight butterfly, or a moth to a gaslight. I could be anyone right at this moment. This still, messy, stinging, wet, beautiful moment, with Gaia at the peak of her power. I could not be a doctor. I could not have two daughters. I could not be a practitioner of the craft. I could not be all of those things and more, and have to all leave it behind. Leave behind what makes me who I am.
Leave behind those I love so much I would die for them.
Above everything, I am a mother, like Gaia, and I have the two best girls in her world.
I can't leave. I won't leave.
Here in this world, as it is in this picture in time, I'll be immortal. Forget my own perspective and tricks of the mind and sad delusions; from other's viewpoints, if they were to see me now, they would see a ghost who belongs in the moss, the green, the swamp. Her shadow plays on the trees.
Here, now, anything is possible for me.
I am a--bog? Tree? Lady of the Lake? Green Witch? I will always be here, protecting my beloved.
I am Gaia.
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