Primal instinct

I hear the the whispering wind,
As she dances through the snowy trees.
I raise my arms in greeting of her,
While I embrace my kin ~
The biting cold upon my skin.
I breathe in the forest,
Allowing it to heal my soul.
The winter might be my father,
And the wind my sister,
Just as the wolf and raven are my brothers ~
But the forest,
She is my mother.
I am the cold, the crystalline frost,
That decorates the dusk.
Leave me be, warm sun,
We are not family.
The moon is friend,
But not all family is by blood,
When water flows more tranquil.
Breathe ~
Breathe and live,
Breathe in the secrets that are not secrets at all.
The truth lies in feeling alive.
Primal child,
Winter-forest son.
I am what I’ve always been.

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About Fredrik Kayser

Everything is connected.
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