a mid-life rewilding
Fifty is fast approaching and today marks 72 days away from being officially postmenopausal. Unless, of course, I bleed between now and June. If I do, the countdown starts all over. I don’t want that. I’m done cocooning and dissolving—I’m restless and ready to emerge. Ready to see
is a rebirthing of sorts: eyes loose shut, crouching on hands and knees rocking back and forth arching —no growling: just prowling and breath. a feeling into the body, sensing its stories and songs dusty blackened bare feet, soft body, sweat-stained skin, untamed bushy hair these sensual moves
The food scraps are out of the freezer. Potato peelings. Giblets. Onion skins. Dug-out pumpkin pips and flesh, the ghosts of hollowed-out Halloween lanterns. Chicken bones. Carrot peelings. They all end up in the large stainless steel pot. A few cloves of garlic, skin on. A dash of