SPIRIT HOUSE DREAMS

We are born in the house of the bee
suckled on dandelion wine
We hunt in the house of the child
on a carousel horse with no reins
We dance in the house of the bear
on mountain tops pointing out stars
We die in the house of the loon
on seas laughing softly our joy

I am a Celt of long and honored standing, who is now very much at home in a Northwest Cedar War canoe. Slattery