Are You Baba Yaga?


Are You Baba Yaga?

I want a Faerie cottage on wheels,
in which to travel the country.
Traversing wide plains, in my magic hut,
I’ll settle down each night by its cozy hearth,
cat curled up alongside.
I will drink mint tea all day,
munch crisp apples by the side of the road,
and study rain.
I will park my home by lakes,
under oak trees,
on beaches,
in friends’ driveways,
next to waterfalls,
at festivals, at concerts,
and by farmers’ markets.
No one will see, except a few blessed like me,
that my home is not wheeled, but walking on giant legs.
Or giant wings?
I’m not Baba Yaga or, rather, not who she seems.
Because she roamed wild, wandered free,
they called her a demon hag.
They had to explain away an old woman traveling solitary.
But she was a Fey Witch. Like me. A shaman. A priestess.
We journey in our myths, serving our Gods
by ministering to those we meet along the path
and by our joy and play.
I don’t need a man, all I need are Gods and a cat.
I am a happy old woman alone. I am on an adventure.
A shut-in due to illness, every morning I hit the roads of Faerie.
Are you Baba Yaga too?



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