We are the women who run with wolves.
Daughters of she-wolves
Children of the past.
Gracing our mothers’ footsteps
With those of our own.
Slipping through forests of quiet calmness
Together, we move as one.
Embodiments of lupine eloquence
Connected to ancient rituals.
Silhouetted against the night sky
We lift our heads
And fill the air with a harmony of voices
Carried across the winds.
Our cries intermingle
With the cries of those who came before us
As we follow the beckoning calls
And our daughters become
The women who run with wolves.

Marie Prichard is a longtime writer and educator. She lives on an island in the Pacific Northwest with her wife, their two wiener dogs, and a Munchkin cat. She loves reading, writing, walking the beach, and filling her wife’s pockets with heart rocks. You can read more of her writing on Medium