Presenting the poetry, books, and photographs of Nancy Wood, 1936-2013
My horse took me down the life-giving road
Drawing his breath as he went
His breath of strong spirit
His breath of power to plow and to pull.
But now he is old
And his breath is of feathers and corn.
I add to his breath
The breath of my own
And pray to his old age of riches.
What I am I must become.
What I see I must try to find.
What I hear I must play music to.
What I touch I must leave alone
And turn then to all reflections of myself
In trees and sacred things
That nature gives to me.
When trouble comes to me
I have to go and dance.
I dance until the dust receives my trouble.
The dust takes my trouble to the mountain.
The mountain grows with the dust of trouble.
The place for my trouble to be.
My help is in the mountain
Where I take myself to heal
The earthly wounds
That people give to me.
I find a rock with sun on it
And a stream where the water runs gentle
And the trees which one by one
give me company.
So must I stay for a long time
Until I have grown from the rock
And the stream is running through me
And I cannot tell myself from one tall tree.
Then I know that nothing touches me
Nor makes me run away.
My help is in the mountain
That I take away with me.