Sara Wright – Page 2 – Feminism and Religion

Autumn Equinox 25: The Cutting Away and the Gathering In by Sara Wright

There is something very special about ‘the cutting away and gathering in’ … my very wild gardens are flattened, my wildflower field has just been mowed, trees are turning, and I am possessed by joy.

It’s at this time of year that the sky opens into a field of dreams. I walk down through the pines to watch the stars appear at dusk – the open field widens my vision. The Great Bear circumnavigates the sky and as other constellations crystalize, I can imagine that it’s possible to re- imagine, to re- weave the threads around the cross-cultural web that is broken. Ordinary perception fails.

I am also reminded that everything changes, and that the seasonal round is the foundation of life.

In this same field during daylight hours birds feast on thousands of scattered seeds that have been baked in summer heat.

I’m amazed by an illumination.

At both equinoxes near and far meet.

Autumn Light by Sara Wright

Where are they?

September’s light
illuminates one butterfly
in flight
Bittersweet losses
cast slanted shadows
pierce cool nights

morning mist
lifts as
light streams
through translucent
leaves

one acorn falls…

autumn’s breath
a gift of
primal scent

A Little Story about Intimacy by Sara Wright

Usually when humans hear the word intimacy they think of human loved ones. When I use the word intimacy it is because I belong to the land and by extension to all of nature beginning with my dogs who have accompanied me throughout my life and remain my most intimate companions.

Recently, after eight months of hospicing my two dying girls – we spend the last thirteen years as one unit – I wondered how long it would be before my grief would allow me to bring in another companion. My two beloved dead dogs orchestrated Coalie’s coming although I didn’t know it at the time, and now that we are together, I can walk with my grief and loss and experience joy even as I am once again initiated into interspecies intimacy that defies explanation.

I still find myself in a state of awe. How is it possible that a 2 lb. dog could become so much a part of me so seamlessly? From the moment I saw her on a machine I knew she was mine. When she arrived, we were already connected on a level beneath words…

Emergence – Miracle Birth by Sara Wright

When my ‘good neighbor’ sent me the photo yesterday morning I could see the outlines of the butterfly, so my little dog Coal and I walked up to see for ourselves. It was hot – very hot though only around 9:30 AM. The capsule was already twisted and turning though not even the lightest breeze was in evidence. The outlines of the monarch were clearly etched through the now blackened but still translucent chrysalis.

Standing under the porch overhang that the caterpillar had chosen for transforming, a miracle was in progress. Before our eyes the capsule split as the butterfly emerged head-first, feelers extended and waving from the bottom of a rapidly shrinking chrysalis that had so recently been lime green tipped in gold. The wings were still quite small, but the butterfly was already pumping fluid into them readying for first flight. As the wings expanded before our eyes I cried out like a child exclaiming in my joy and excitement – “oh a miracle, a miracle”, and of course it was, the birthing of new life.

Lucy’s Light by Sara Wright

12/?/ 13 – 7/21/25 written morning after her death 22ⁿ^d

Purple and scarlet
orange flames
lemon and gold
lavender blue
cobalt hues
we are
dogs,
bees, bears,
butterflies,
hummingbirds too
Innocence seeking
a place
we once knew…
Grief pulled us down
into an old familiar
place. Darkness reigned
hopelessness too.
All we had was each other
At Hecate’s Crossroad
she couldn’t let go
and either could I
Lucy was my dog
you see
A ‘familiar’
just like me.
I couldn’t read her.
Forced to make
the decision
for us both
I let her go…
When we lay together
that one last time
nestled under
a purple shroud
she breathed
Feathers of Light
a Tree circle
marks her grave
Earth took her in
roots, soil, leaves
Hemlock
holds
her body
like
I once did.
Between North and East
Bear Medicine flowed
through a crack
in the Round…
Rising
on the wings
of cool green lights
she lives …
Firefly Nights.

Hospicing Hope Continued by Sara Wright

Part 2, You can read last week’s post here.

Walking over to Hope’s gravestone early the next morning, I immediately noted the passionflower was still open. Very Unusual. But then, crucifixion and abandonment by someone this dog loved characterized the last two months of Hope’s life, the dark side associated with the mysterious power that permeates this wild vine and flower. When this passionflower started blooming profusely in the house months before ki’s time, I felt the threat looming…

A few minutes later after the sun cast her fire over the hillside where Hope’s body lay, masses of golden swallowtails dipped and soared around her grave. Oh, that’s when I felt Hope surrounding us with love. I am well she told me and flying with the butterflies as you can see…

The earth moved beneath my feet.

One month later swallowtails continue to fly around Hope’s grave.

Hospicing Hope by Sara Wright

9/30/2012 – 6/11/2025

6/12

Part One

Hope’s black eyes pierced my soul- body as she stood staring through me, ears erect. It was time. Are you sure? Yes. She lay back down. I immediately got up.

Walking helps me to process what I must do. A half an hour later I called.

A numbing drive, walking into a room lit with three candles, and a brief wait before the two kindly women appeared.

Hope washed my tearful face as I held her, reminding me that we would never be separated. For thirteen years she had showered me with kisses beginning each day and again at night before we slept. A long low sigh, before Hope took her last breath. Her body suddenly felt limp, heavy in my arms. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that her heaped up overflowing heart had ceased to beat.

Lucy, her twelve year old adopted sister peered anxiously at me as I looked down at her, eyes perplexed. Seconds later Lucy’s pencil thin tail went limp as the knowing seeped in. As usual we conversed beneath words.

A blurry drive home.

Reflection on the Fourth of July by Sara Wright

Early Summer Days 2025

Hermit thrush’s trill and the bittern’s kerplunk are only two of the birds that mark this dawning with squawks or song. Red eyed vireo sings from the highest pine. My little Lucy (Lucia means Light in Italian, one of my mother tongues) and I bring in the day listening to bird symphonies as the sun star rises over the trees splashing verdant leaf tips in gold. First the ferns and then sparks of light sweep through the forest lighting patches of brook waters, lemony splotches appear here and there on deep humus, the rich soil that is conversing with the roots below the forest floor. Listen and you will hear that hum.

The phoebe family is fledging, and I feel privileged to be part of their story. Especially because they lost their first nest to a giant squirrel. Flicking their tails just like their parents the fledglings land on the little cherry growing just beyond my window before diving towards ground covers for tasty insect morsels.

The Mark of the Bear is upon us.

Circle of Fire by Sara Wright

Moderator’s Note: This is the final part of Sara’s poem that was posted last week. You can read it here.

Part 1

She burned
in raging fires
swamped by
merciless floods
crossed mountains
of grief
so wide so deep
crushed Silence
in her sleep
unknowingly
accompanied
by Owls
and Winter Wren
Marked by Bear’s
sharp Protective
Claws
Circles of Fire