I have been reading Meinrad Craighead,
Crow Mother and the Dog God and wrote this little piece inspired by her crow magic and much of my own.
Hidden away in the recesses of my own self is a wild ancient crone who has been gathering materials and messages for a grand dance. Within this woven wicker trunk are the symbols developed over the years, the masks worn for so many occasions, the sacred texts and songs of 7 decades. In the box also reside a cache of magic known only to me, cards, feathers, bags of potions, vessels, and bits and pieces of crow collections these include pretty paper, old candies, photographs, songs, silver rings and a poem or two.
The repository of magic and totems also has a crow drum, a gourd, an ipu, embroidery, and many glass items all sanctified and incensed ready for the day the dance commences. The trick of it all is to time it just right. The right night, the right moon, the right season, the right place and the right reason. When all is set and the stage and all the trappings and regalia are in order.. the beginning will be announced by the cry of crow. The wild dance of life, death, and the spirit will commence with bells, and drums, and lots of swirling purple and black. The dance will ease away the cover of the gardens and reveal an ancient stairway to the mother of us all. This will be repeated as I am called upon by the Crowmother.