Not happy with this word. It reminds me too much of what my body is doing. But we will investigate it anyway- perhaps with some animosity.
To me, the crone is a character I read in Stephen King's Gun Slinger series; Rhea of the Coo's. Terrifying woman. Bony to the point of being too thin. Joints bulging from the skin. Breasts hanging useless. Hair thin, of various lengths, and hanging unkempt from her head. She has a potion for illness and a powder for money. She can see everywhere in her pink crystal ball. She laughs to herself and kicks her two tailed cat. She looks at young men with lecherous greed.
Perhaps I am not too far from that myself, in many ways.
Short one today, not too keen on investigating my Crone, as of yet. She is too close for comfort.
Come sit with me, let's visit
1 comment:
I'm moving into cronehood (we all are at this age), but not quite yet. In between mother and crone, like being in between seasons. I'm trying to embrace the inevitable, and remember that becoming crone is becoming wisdom.
Post a Comment