I rise when the light beyond my eyelids
Beckons.
In golden earrings, silk, linen, 
And dancing shoes,
I feast on 
Porridge and berries.

I turn to my scrying glass
To see 
The heart-breaks of the world.

I climb to my tower, 
Grasp 
The treasured fleeces
I have been given, and earned,
And use my wheel
To spin my thread -
Weft for my tiny moment
In the infinite tapestry.

Fingers red from spinning, I descend,
Leaving my tower,
Throwing my muddiness into the creek,
My restlessness into the lake, 
And I return
Wand calm.

In my caldron
I conjure up a bubbling broth -
An evening potent potion
And comforting charm.

By candlelight, I spell myself
Into quietude.

After, I open my mind to
Divining crystal stories
of others.

At the witching hour,
I wrap myself in my feather bed
And dream.