“There was a coldness, it seemed to me, beyond her years, in her smiling melancholy persistent refusal to afford me the least ray of light.”

When she was angry, her eyes grew dangerous, moist, and even larger, maybe she was only really alive when she went too far, went beyond herself and her own limits.

The grey of her eyes grew slightly darker: it’s her way of blushing.

We are our ancestors. The spiritual umbilicus is apparent to all. The dead look upon us with the pure love of a mother’s gaze. But the dead love is even more because of our flawed flesh and eternal confusion. The removal from form allows for total and complete unconditional love. We carry our dead with us like helium balloons. There is no breaking the umbilicus.

There are secrets hidden in our flesh. Our cells being born and dying with the same force that makes galaxies form and deconstruct.

Fox is more beautiful than any human I've ever seen. I can feel him. Clean, strong, devoted to survival, and unburdened by all the falsehoods that humans subconsciously subscribe to. Clarity. Dignity. All of what we have lost as humans is transparent in the eyes of one who lives from the Land. The tingling sensation returns in my face. It feels as if my face is elongating. I see you, Fox, and you are a child and a killer. You are bigger than I and you will have a better life and death. You are penetrating my body and changing my flesh with your eyes. Beckoning. You want me to Become with you.

These foxes will die of starvation; better to put them out of their misery. These foxes will harm schoolchildren; better to put them out of their misery. These humans will destroy the earth; better to put them out of their misery.

The foxes run. The foxes die. I mourn them, but I understand that there is danger in mourning for those who would not mourn for you in return. Empathy is for those who can afford it. Empathy is for the privileged. Empathy is not for Nature.

Wind is the cold bearer and the death bringer.

The Northern Lights grow larger still and begin to morph into faces, blurry, omnipotent, healing and death-dealing. They sharpen and I see Aunties and Great-grandmothers. I see Ancestors and future children; the young ones are just developing and preparing their spirits for the next rotation of Earth Journey. It takes millennia to return to Earth after we die. I weep at the majesty of our ancestors, and give thanks to the opportunity to witness them. Tears freeze. The heat in my core starts to burn and the world turns upside down.

"Can I tell you that, sometimes, I utter the word justice and mean revenge? On my best nights, I mean mercy, but my best is my rarest form."