Category: Surviving

Rising Out of Ashes: A Cinderella Story

“…beginning anew once again…”

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

Slivered moon
on horizon’s breast
resigns yielding easily
to dawn splitting skies of
blue velvety night
bringing consciousness
to graceful mindfullness
and slow, easy breaths from her soft warm thinning shell

Shaking off worn cotton pillow impressions
on warm rosy  cheeks
Wiley tendrils of tussled hair
Shift now reluctantly from their lazy ways position

Catching dreams
webbed but spider free glimpses begin catching onto
her soul’s awakening
a brief flash of fears
gives way as
her eyes adjust
to light again ever so slowly

Mist spills over the leaves scattering upon the ground by canyon birds’ stretching wings then twirling into breezes gentle with hope of the new day

Light tripping into fantastic melding into mother nature’s dancing beyond window pane and glory is this new day

Determined and bound no more to spinning mind the rabbit hole backfilled or a rabid nest of thoughts wing clipped
where once prior with treacled brimstone weighing her down, its hold briefly relinquished now lifting wing in currents free

setting her momentarily able
to exhale in a
deep, deep sigh and reaching upward within a drifting splitting cloud she finds her soul
reaquanting with relief
recognizing,

remembering

recalling


she is worthy of wings that soar.

Gathering up her bones
once more again
to look past self-induced paradigms and prophecies
her mode of survival having been what once
all too familiar, has shorted her sight in hindsight now her eyes wide shut now see

Beginning anew once again putting on rose colored glasses, once shattered and lost, that she
once had upon a time
not too long ago,
adorning them strong, proud, sparkling easily in falsehoods she sees absolute truth absolutely

Hence, another eeking out visions of
the good
in life
in her life
in herself
despite circumstances

Reminding herself
her inner fortitude
Oh
No
oh no one will give her what she needs but herself
Being strong is not un-wise nor weak

her gentle inner nature emerges

cracking through shell.


Slowly seeing clearly
the writing on the wall now on this early days’ break
Tells the truth of the story

in whole not just sum of parts

Waiting no more for the knights in shining armor riding high on white stallions
To save her from herself
Oh, seeing
The charm has fallen from the bloom yet remains a rose as sweet thorns and all


Oh, yes, ’tis sweetly fallen that the lift begins

Where once she sought this white horse saviour to challenge her dragons,
now seeks herself hoping still they ride side by side
into twilights beyond equal measure

Or not


Regardless she will ride, ride, ride

Riding out of the dark forest and into fields of wild lilies she may even see the light is from within
Without doubt
With true herself

As Rome burns in her heart,
Leaving scars so deep you could taste them
The knife now pulled from her back

as it was once said……

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer

Realizing now herself as her own worst enemy

As a large gypsy moth flutters in the breaking light the world now disturbed and unsettled
She relates

Change is constant
Best not to resist
With dew lagging behind as heat of sun approaches
And yearning for cloak of night’s return both realize
Fate’s finger may have been fickle but has a pleasant surprise for them both

Just the eve before
dawnswings danced around  lamp light burning low but steady set carefree, unfettered unaware of burning light

Realizing she has been drawn in, a shift begins to occur

Seeing challenges, more than most could bear, around every flickering beam of candle’s glow, she resists the temptation to crash and burn like she almost did

She offers solace and a soft place for to land in the palm of her hand and ponders a proclivity to suffer though she need not to
Letting the flutters into the underside of sheltering leaves

Whatever happens in this world is of her own devices

Seeing that there may limits only they are up to her

Though at first early dawn tears woke and startled her from slumber a certain peace and ease begins to emerge.

Nothing new under the sun this crazy feeling of maybes and per chances.
To redirect and rise above the danger triumphant is her renewed motto.

Love, of self, will save her from the shackles set up like moats once dreary and dank, she tells herself

Love, of self,  like you have never been hurt, is tatamount to thriving beyond surviving, she tells herself

Love, of self, and others will follow, she tells herself

Take it easy and breathe.
Stay away from the flame yet seek the light, she tells herself. Offer solace with your own hand, she tells herself.

Find the road less travelled, the one that brings you towards yourself, she tells herself.

Stand up for and with yourself and hold your head up high, she repeats over and over and over and again over again until it becomes more than familiar but real

Holding her heart open
She leaps with faith willingly reluctant but earnestly resisting the urge to crash and burn again

Allowing her heart cycles to resign to ash then yearn repair is simply no longer an option

Shifting thoughts like burning campfire coals now slowly, she begins trusting, knowing, faithfully believing her soul is her best guide away from the embers and settling ashes

she sees that she won even in losing

Seasons

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What? You mean you did not hear

Nature’s span, as with man,

has four seasons to the year?

Ovid Met. XV 199

When the grass was taller than eyes could see

and frogs easily jumped into ponds

and crickets competed with fireflies for attention

and frosty snow was good to the touch

with red, wet, happy hands

When stars above soared a million miles

and there were smiles on every man-on-the-moon

and imagination bloomed like poppies wide and bright

and fearlessness with anything told we couldn’t try

with unadulterated mischievous joy

When freckled faces captained pirate newspaper ships

and danced along with Puck and elves

and innocence staid off sorrow

and angst was an unknown word

with no need for sorrow

When we, who never knew hard, never guessed worse

and bullied our way into the universe

and glad oh-so-glad traded our prized possession, Time,

and in return thought an endless train of tomorrows

with disregard to limitations and lamentations

But then our plans resolved

into a reduction of our former selves

we thought no more of pirates, ships nor elves

one by one hope becoming blurred

in memory’s fading mist,

when decisions changed our visions

as our dreams became revisions

of our once intended way;

when at night we heard a whisper say:

“Have you lost your way? Lost your way?”

But that, oh all of that, that was mere digression

in the midst of our obsession to chase down time

heavily burdening traditions, social mores and blind driven ambition

we whittled away our dwindling day

across a darkening sky with dimming comets

Now ghosts lurk in the shadows of the grassy fields plowed to the bone

Now all those dancing princes-to-be fall weakened by water-logged ships

Now all the crickets found frostbitten in driven snow

Now the road less travelled is tired and worn and there’s not plenty more of it to go

Retracing our steps from room to room and more rooms oh, god so many rooms

tracing the steps of those who stepped before then after us, too

vaguely mumbling muttering as we near, nearer near more even near our last door

“Is this all there is? Is there not more of what was before?”

What appeared as orbs of light and waves of sound is diminished into blinding ebb

What came to us once playful colorful kite now seems a clumsy laden lead balloon

What dreams were made now lay softly gathering dust upon highest shelf as we gray

hanging ten overfold in the half hopes

they return again as toys in soft happy hands

Now like old murderous crows gathered on a widow maker

Then and again gossiping and scolding the younger birds on the scene below

Now our faces turned to furrowed fields wearing on like Sisyphus’ sister

Then turning to our hands with maps of blue fine sand slipping between our fingers

As the winds begin to bluster babbling setting chills to the core

realization sets in of a we learnt and won and lost and ignored,

The final question is,:

“Will the life in its sum of its parts,

of all learnt and won

or ignored and lost

turning water to wine,

sweet outweighing bitter

be enough to heal in generations to come?”

The Memory of Waves

“…rising up resilient…”

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

Once a time ago, not so long ago

along sandy seashelled shores

when happy hands built seashore castles

where merry mermaids happily

came out to playfully congregate 

their hair made glistening with sun and wet seaweed twisted on conch shell combs

playing a game of ring toss 

with surprised starfish

This day arriving cloudy with a spot of grey

she closed her eyes

braving it all recalling blistering sands 

rising craggy up from between her toes 

skin crawling trying to get above from out beneath emotional waves’ ebb and flow

As she gathers speed towards the water

A deep buzz unsettling her head relentlessly gnawing away beneath surface of freckles and old tan lines from last summer’s rompings

Misty salt water comes bubbling up popping with foam seemingly in willingly surrender

breaking the rising waves by a seagull 

retrieving its wiggling supper in clenched beak

Toggling towards the sky rocking the boat and dislodging anchor unsettling discomfort a canoe without paddles in meandering float inches aimlessly towards the horizon of unknown destinations

Digging up the abyss

Where once so buried

Now feelings rise

Cresting whitecaps

Throwing mist to her eyes

Bursting towards the surface

Like a breaching whale 

She holds her breath under water now

count down to nearly three, something gathers

from the gallows of her soul

gumption….gritting teeth….she pulls up through the ocean’s rim and sees her reflection 

Then like a gale force sudden she rebels the

Tritons of circumstances stabbing at her like greedy man-o-war stinging at her flesh 

raising it into crests pushing up resilient

Causing the blisters to erupt

Emerging exposed

Salted wounds open and raw

Tumbling, stumbling at first nevertheless 

forging forward 

Now inner truths exposed

Like open oysters 

exposing pearl

ready to heal

Preparing to once more

play along the shore

She rides the wave

Good Friday Bad Day

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

With waxing gibbious full moon nearing, I realized the influence it actually has on all of us. In spades. Today drove me crazy. Being the type that yearns to figure things out and somewhat of an introspective spiritual sort (perhaps some might say a lunatic at times) I found myself in a tailspin by the end of this day feeling dizzy as a Dirvish. All of the day’s challenges, although somewhat benign compared to many others out there, I was brought to my knees in frustration with a sprinkle of sorrow. Everything I attempted backfired with hiccup after hiccup. Nothing (and I mean no thing at all) went smoothly. It became overwhelming and at times darkly humorous. Had to laugh when I couldn’t even eat a piece of toast because the knife slipped from my hand, fell to the floor splattering an apricot jam butter blend everywhere then slid under the heel of my slipper shoving goop onto the underside of my foot. Wtf. Srsly. What. The. F&$k. Finally, I had a private meltdown of sorts. This finale to the whole succession of failures over 14 hours during the course of the day from 5am until 7pm, this last obstacle to just having a decent day buried me. I sat down with a thud on the sticky floor and just started bawling. So stupid, I thought. Everyone has a tough day sometimes. Pull up your big girl panties and snap out of it. It’s just a piece of toasted sourdough bread. Sigh. Get the f%$k up. So, brushing off the sticky crumbs from the sole of my foot, I realized it was ultimately worthy of some serious soul searching, so to speak. It was either that or blow a gasket and we all know that’s neither fun nor pretty.

I had to dig deep in my mental toolbox this time to tend to some seriously smoldering-to-the-surface old wounds. The kind you ruminate on, that wake you up on the middle of the night. The oh no, missy, you’re not going back to sleep. Sorrrrry. So what, it’s 3am, you might as well brew some coffee and brew your boggled brain a bit more, kind. The pop-into-your-head-any-
moment wounds; the memory of them anyway. The kind that cut. Deeply. The get-out-of-my-head thoughts that if you’re not careful will consume you. So…..let’s flip the switch, I said. Find a healthy cathartic distraction. In doing so, I indeed found a few that helped: solitary meditation, prayer, music, cutting flowers for Easter, crying and the turning to the oracles. Oh, and deep box breathing. Lots of deeeeeeeeep breathing while looking at the moon rising in the darkening canyon.

I love the moon. It proves even in darkness we can have faith that light will prevail. That life has its cycles. Call me a lunatic. A few of you may already. Whatever. At times we all are. We are all human. That’s okay. Some people may make fun of or avoid others they believe to be lunatics. That’s okay, too. Personally, I believe many who have been considered lunatics throughout the ages ended up having a deeper understanding of and/or creative perspective on life. Actually referring to the etymology of the word, lunatic is Middle English: from Old French lunatique, from late Latin lunaticus, from Latin luna ‘moon’ (from the belief that changes of the moon caused intermittent insanity). So, maybe being a lunatic occasionally isn’t all that bad. Some may mind if others go a little bonkers from time to time. However, to keep my sanity I had to, just HAD to, think: some good may come out of all of it. My addage is: those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind (nod to Dr. Seuss). I’m simply sharing and stating the facts about how I got through this particularly rough day with tools at hand. Maybe it will help someone else someday. So, go ahead and call me a lunatic. Anyway, I digress. The moon and getting through the madness.

This evening’s twilight on verge of impending full moon proved obvious impetus for a drawing from my moon oracle deck. Interesting draw. [see pic]. The two drawn -‘reveal what needs to be seen’ and ‘find a balance’- loosely said: speak your mind but watch your tongue and tone. Find the right space and time. Fitting. Also drew from my Angel deck-Trust. There’s a suprise. Ha! Anyway, bottom line what was revealed to me is: be more patient with and trust in yourself, your process, your life and speak your mind with truth, decorum and faith.
As for the dice, I use them as numerology to bump up feedback via signals and signs trusting the luck of the draw, so to speak. I threw twice. First, a seven then a three.
Seven is a number of completion; initial flip of the bones indicated closure to something was on the horizon. Then, tossing a three is representative of the birth-life-death cycle, the mind-body-soul connection, the three acts of a typical story-beginning/middle/end. Wherever the number three shows up in your life, it’s also generally an omen of creativity, communication, optimism, and curiosity. The combo essentially meant: stay the course despite obstacles; there will be a transformative period but in the end the experience will likely prove impetus for knowledge and growth. The reading gave me solace and calmed me down. With that,
I crawled into bed, pulled the quilt up close and my kitties closer and tried to let go of the shitshow that was this day. Putting it behind me and looking forward to tomorrow and surrending to the process of life’s cycle, I was able to finally settle down and exhale. Afterall, like the moon, even in the darkness I can have faith I will rise again and see the light. Blessed be.

Fully a Woman

“…edges once ruffled up by life…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen3 Comments

The thick cool winter is deep, slow and steady

and like it,

she is becoming the woman 

she’s always desired.

Weathering inner

storms that once resembled tornado alleys

delighted now by new touch

feathery and softening

edges once ruffled up by life 

gently easing and into a smoothed out version

by laughter that’s known bitter

but simply got better.

Content with Rapunzel hair

greying at the temples,

with no longer need for towers,

enjoying an acquired taste for her body’s new softness in places where once firm enough to bounce any quarter 

quickly flipping

her embodiment of woman 

thriving now beyond survival

Embracing the embroidery of scars running across finely freckled sunkissed skin

as merely tattoos, 

only with better stories

of a deeper meaning

worn gently badges in testimony

to being well worn but alive

She is becoming a woman who

knows she’s a warrior 

not a worrier

fully pledged standing in allegiance in fact,

that whatever comes,

she will endure.

She is becoming a deep worn

weathered basket

handled well, willing to carry anything with grace and gratitude despite how heavy

She is becoming the woman she’s longed for;

the comforting lover 

strong and tender,

unyielding and unconditional 

The grown up daughter

who still blushes at surprises

that tumble from her own lips on occasion but stands by what was said with conviction despite minor tettering on occasion

She, becoming illuminated, brighter with each full moon

and sunrise with each cycle of the days knowing that every moment has at the very least an inkling of light despite darkness

She is becoming,

this woman she’s wanted,  yearned for,

who knows she’ll continue growing

who knows she’s more than sufficient

who knows she’s precious,

and knows she’s rare 

who knows she is plenty,

plenty enough to handle but refuses to be handled with any unnecessary roughness

who knows that her kindness will never again be mistaken for weakness,

that she is a glittering warrior queen and despite falling will always again rise 

she is becoming the woman that is plenty enough just as she is.

Anger Under Toe

“…working on the inside…”

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

pulling in like a snail to shell
wet, sticky, dark cool and safe
harbored resentment built from pain cringing in salt

to the wound
stinging all over

working on the inside
melting and waiting to burst with beautifying release and liquidation of pent-up emotions gathered over years of sliding among nettle fields
staggered by the broken paths lagging pauses linger just before jumping
in towards tomorrow’s hope for solace and retribution

Returning to the Nest

“…together in communion…

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

Gathering once again for morning prayer,
as they usually do,
a pair of birds touch down
weary and worn for quite awhile
hanging on for life in the weeping haze
under shadow of lush limbs lending
a soft place to land.

Narily escaping with outstretched wings
this canyon’s blaze
they sing harmoniously in homage to survival,
flights without fancy
and close call stories
in their celebratory song.

Stirring up stillness
of the crackling duff below
critters hidden but heard
among the canyon’s canopy
of deep velvet green
gratefully nibble on nearby bramble and brush.

With watchful eye
a lone doe
alongside her spotted fawn
steps gently
along the craggy trail
snapping branches brittle below hoof
snacking on nearly ripe blackberries
tugging between the thorns
as once smokey skies now
bloom into an orange julius dawn.

Trees gather humbled
together in communion
on the ancient valley floor
still stand tall and proud
resilient to the surrounding fury
that raged for days on end
grateful now just to
maintain stance among embers;
Ashes, ashes we won’t fall down.

Sense and Sensitivity

“…I knew inside was likely a zoo…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen1 Comment

Through all that’s been going on, all things considered, I have been handling everything pretty well. Most days are filled with pleasant activities like baking, cooking, reading, writing and/or editing old poems I’ve written, lounging with the babies (of the fur variety), speaking with loved ones and enjoying my space. However, the other day, well, not so much. Rut-roh. Marketing time.

Having to venture out and go into “the world”, I prepared myself. Mask? Check. Long hair up and wrapped? Check. Gloves? Check. Hand sanitizer and spray bottle with rubbing alcohol to wipe down grocery bag before it goes into the truck? Check. Nerves settled with Rescue Remedy? Check. Ready to venture past the security of home? Check.

Arriving at the full parking lot I knew inside was likely a zoo. Afterall, it was Good Friday and many needed stuff for Easter dinner. Or the weekend. Or whatever. There was a general air of Orwellian confusion in an semi-orderly fashion. One way aisles were designated, bare shelves, people in a daze and looking scared. Families were dawdling in front of the Easter candy display. Most blocking the way for others to get by. Donning my gloves I had an itch on my cheek where the N95 mask sat (I have one from the fires here last year). Don’t touch your face. Don’t do it!!!!

It was obvious to me that some people were being complacent and not complying with the PPE orders here. Lots of bare faces and hands. Pushing her cart aside just before the in-store Starbucks and gathering her groceries up from the metal basket, I saw one woman take off her gloves and just throw them letting them land like a retired condom with a unceremonious splat. I spoke up saying she might think to just take them with her and dispose of them later. She responded with: I don’t want to touch them again. They may be contaminated. Um, okay.

In addition to all that, there were just waaaaaaay too many people inside rendering it nearly impossible for proper social distancing. Living in a tourist area where there are a lot of vacation homes, it appeared many folks were out here for a “visit”. We locals can tell out-of-towners in a heartbeat. Well, there are quite a few still venturing here to, um, get away. I won’t go into how wrong that is because I may blow up and I am trying to maintain an even keel.

With all that said, I remained fairly calm and was able to keep my shit together for the most part. After gathering necessities, the next step was to proceed to the check out lanes. The lines spilled down the aisles like limp tentacles reaching towards the back of the store. Following the social distancing guidelines, markers on the floor were spaced out so that each customer was supposed to be separated by the length of two shopping carts.

This was all fine and good but with so many people in the store trying to get down aisles to finish their shopping or for the lost tourists to find whatever and wander aimlessly, we all had to maneuver in order to adhere to the guidelines. It was like an odd game of opposite bumper cars. Don’t touch me, jimbo, I won’t dance. I stood in line for 45 minutes feeling nervous shifting from leg to leg and practicing a mantra of “just breathe, this will soon pass”. One man yelled at me for standing in front of the ice cream he wanted. Another huffed when I asked politely if he could stand back a little. Jeezus, it’s not a big deal, he mumbled under his breath. Uh, yeah it is, asshole. This is all a big deal.

My turn was coming up. After the cashier wiped down the conveyor belt, I finally put down my small order of groceries. I started to feel like the room was closing in on me and could feel my heart beat gaining speed. I wished I could just grab everything and leave. I wished I could have hugged the friends I happened to see in the store moments prior. I wished this would all go away. I wished I had taken a larger dose of Rescue Remedy. My glasses began to steam up and I could feel tears begin to well. Choke those things down, woman. Big girl panties time. Don’t lose it in HERE! Stay calm. Breathe. All I could think was: get me out of here. Finally the order was tallied up. I took out the plastic and tried to pay but the card wouldn’t take. I tried it again several times. Slide…..beepbeep…..slide……..beepbeep. Again, try it again I know there is money in there. Still my effort to pay was to no avail. My glasses were fogging up like an outdoor sauna window during a snowstorm and it was hard to see the POS. Sliiiide….beepbeep. Finally, the cashier asked what kind of card I was using. I looked at it and realized it was my insurance card. I was trying to charge my groceries to Kaiser. Something snapped. As tears welled in my eyes and I felt ridiculous, it took everything I had to not burst into tears. I fumbled in my wallet for the right card. Apologizing to the cashier and those behind me, the cashier gently said, “It’s okay hon. We are all a bit dazed these days.” The woman behind me putting her groceries on the belt BEFORE the cashier said to (they are wiping down the belts and payment terminals between orders), a tourist, said: “oh, for crissake…hurry up.” I just gave her a WTF look over my mask then said, “Welcome to river time.”

Finally reaching the truck in the parking lot with my supplies bundled compactly in one brown bag, I let go and began to just cry. Softly quietly cry. It was a release and a relief to finally let go of all the tension that had been building for days. On the ride back home I finally felt the anxiety lift and had to chuckle about using the wrong card. It is kind of funny….in a omg-I’m-a-little-out-of-sorts-when-will-
this-end sort of way. Moral is: laughter heals.

Something’s Fishy

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen1 Comment

 

Crashing into the wrecking ball of whitecap force the eagle finds itself in a quagmire

Deep into the water the salmon dives hoping to elude capture

Finding instead lure sharp it hooks into the skin deeply

Leaving gash beyond repair

Waking into release of drowning taken promises of riding the waves

Over the tides ebbing free from tossing tides and nearing turmoil spawning nevermore

Drowning is avoided narily

Gasping for air once again she realizes she nearly choked on hook of line and sinker

Disappearing into the froth of the river taken down to the crash of shore against skin and stone

With golden sands as far as the eye can see

Freedom from the shackles of lured anchor hearing the seashell’s siren song

Poseidon sets the rules with wielding triton and pricks of destiny letting this one get away

Pins and Needles

…she could feel herself emerging transcendant…

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

With timid breaths awakening she eases precarious legs

twisted like fiery flywheels pining for borderline gait

arms nearly ready to once more hug again in unison with her heart

when not so long ago laden with plaster purple thick and pin burdened

digging sluggishly exposing the rawness of her skin

Feline warmth times two nestled into the downy swirl of quilted breathing

a steadiness slowly emerges calming her savaged fragile shell

Reaching down with her good hand touching fur

she realizes recapitulation in this recuperation

this

is

life

triumphant

Where once

in not so distant past

her security within her own body eluded her

by eyes of needles and tingling threads

inserted deeply into bone

clawing chewing at her insides like hungry belly bulging rats

She could almost feel whole again

Torn and mending flesh scars prove evidence of her survival

eyelids a bit blurry heavy with taunting weighted tears

still she saw past the bed covers’ downy horizon

despite tossing about twisted from last night’s terrors and dreams

Just this side of being on the outside her window she watches impatiently still

undulating branches bring back reality with the weight of woodpeckers as

ancient redwoods keep sentry saluting her moxie every which way with wonder

she marveled at the glow of how amazing this day actually is

in its simplicity in its testimony to life’s perpetuation in perseverance

Part of it all, she realized, she was part of all of this earthly world

her body may be broken but her spirit remains bright

though a once solid foundation beneath her cracked and split

she could feel herself emerging transcendant

Where once quicksand sucked at her into a vortex

she was rising above the not-so-sweet treacle and brimstone grind

she found herself wittingly able to pull herself onto the rolling chair

take it for a spin knowing she would once again dance like before freedom fell

Easier this then on that blessed day, horrah-horray for this vessel’s cracks, she cried

for in those cracks she found the light more easily welcomed

Riding the Surf

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your eyes of jade
with speckled copper
look beyond
what can been seen
with naked eye
your glances see past
my shell
of a scarred wounded body
adoring my naked soul
finding perfection
in my imperfections

with your gentle breaths
and gentler arms

around me
even in my weakest moments
you give me strength
coaxing flowing tides
of monumental frothy painful crests
into ebbing gently along

glorious in our love
under heat of sun
I can rise and ride the surf
to any occasion
beyond any horizon

The Snow Leopard

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen1 Comment

Along ridges of

rugged silvery snowcaps

A rare and regal breed

does roam

through thicket thinned

perilous passages

Camouflaged by cool grey speckled stone

and frosted evergreens

Paws narrowly missing steel traps nestled beyond the fray

Set out to destroy her

Instinct takes hold to thrive beyond survival

Her steps first trepedatious

yet undaunted

She pines searching

for her pride

Gaining ground

Snowy pure and driven

Her howling rises

Emerging guttural

First barely audible

then grows to rumble

Rushing against time

Seeking more of her kind

Found now

far and few between

Breast plate puffed fur fluffed

with whiskers icy splayed

Gaining footing on once slippery slope

She howls

primal pushing fear out

Revelling

in new found voice

She thunders on along

misted mountain

heralding her own echo