Crow sitting on the rock and croaks against full moon
Dollar Photo Club

Full moons delight her. It’s the time when she can dance. Twirling her arms and feet under the bright, bella luna. Steps echoed out her door. A voice whispered that that night was the Crow Moon. How had she forgotten that? With excitement, she jumped up and down. That meant he would be there in the field awaiting her presence. In her bedroom, she found her tweezers and began to pluck all of her eyebrow hair. After so many times doing this, it no longer hurt. Upon completion of that task, she took the Red Hibiscus leaves and mashed them carefully into a paste. Mascara was next. Then she carefully threaded her hair with the slender leaves of the Daffodils that had recently bloomed. Donning her purple hat with a slight tilt to the left, she appraised herself in the mirror. With her purple dress and the face adornment, she was ready.


It was quite a long journey to the meadow where he would be. Through the small glade and out from the pine forest, she made her way with sure feet. In the glazed moonlight, he stood. Claws spread wide for her to begin the healing. Music from the spheres began to play and they danced. Oh, how they danced. This dance, the ancient said, should always be done on that night in March in order to heal our planet. This gave meaning to her life filled with madness. Heaven is found in the spirit of a Crow and heard in his caw.


© Carol Campbell

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Tale Weavers this time, is leading us into madness under the Crow Moon. Here’s Taleweavering to explain:

March is a mad, mad, mad month: the crow full moon, American college basketball “March Madness”; Adelaide and Melbourne, Australia have Mad March Festivals, and of course, the Mad Hatter’s equally mad friend, the March Hare.

Tale Weavers, this week – anything goes; only two stipulations. One: at least some of your tale should transpire in March. Two: that the tale have at least a moment or two of madness!

❤ ❤ ❤

Published by: writersdream9

I have been writing all my life but for the most part, it has been a secret. My parents did not believe writing was a good way to earn money so I hid my poems. Then one day, I wanted to comment on an essay that a friend had written and found myself with a blog. That quiet whisper inside said, "You can write your poetry and no one will ever know.". I knew nothing of followers and the like at that time. So, here I am trying to learn my craft and enjoying every moment of it. My personal details are, I'm 57, married for 39 years, have one grown son who is God's gift to us and last but not least at all, I'm a Baha'i which basically means that I love all humanity.

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