I’m following the red thread.

It sits on top of fresh snow… like breadcrumbs for the robin.

I am the bird. Preparing to take flight, destination unknown but familiar.

This thread. This red slice of bold on white… stretches before me, like a path,

inviting me to take another step.

I’m intrigued. It pulls me forward, coyly playing with my curiosity. I lift my foot gingerly, and place it over the other side of the line. I am not quite as courageous as the red thread.


The wind picks up, sharp against my back, like the arrow of Diana. Of course, she is here, in the woodlands. Guidance for the Robin…

The snow swirls, and the red thread beings to circle around itself. What was once linear… with a clear beginning, a middle and an end, is becoming something else.

A new shape takes form, a messy kinetic ball of red that is growing bigger and stronger and more dense.

Alchemy in action.

I follow the Red thread. Which is now round and full and pregnant with possibility.

I see Diana in the distance, stag by her side. This huntress in the wild is a fierce protector of women of children, of birth.

That must be it..

She is watching the red thread, which is now the red ball that is all strings

and no-strings-attached at the same time.

I run with it…this circle that has no beginning and no end.

I am breathless. My red breast is flush from adventure.

I am moving forward without having to know…with certainty… where the

Red Thread is taking me.

It’s all perfect…. even if it isn’t.

The wind stops.

The Red Thread which is now the Red Ball stops, too.

And there’s a cat.


Ready to play.

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