Thomas Doty – Storyteller
Waiting for the Light
Winter Solstice. A native moon called Split Both Ways. A smidgen more light after a long path of dark, dark nights. In the dim morning, Bear is napping. Coyote is sluggish. Clouds press low. My homeland is an interior landscape. My own. I walk into the woods and watch for what spark of the dawn I can see. As I wait, I listen to a long life of stories as they travel from heart to thoughts and back again. Each word booms in the muffled morning. Each silence echoes. Sudden as a heartbeat, the forest draws a breath. And another. And another.
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