ᛟ From the husks, she weaves.
It is the wolf-woman’s craft...
A craft of survival.
Of beauty in resilience. In building a new vessel for the fire from old lost ember.
~ The very first lantern I made with reclaimed wood from my former home, I had to tear down back in 2022.
.
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Here to claw to the beauty from the bones of loss
To carve light from the rubble of what once sheltered her storms.
Plinter-bit mind.
I carve light from wreckage.
Lost my home.
The one with steel ribs and wooden skin,
that held my winters,
that knew my sleep.
.
I had to dismantle it—
bone by bone, board by board—
Rip out its hide like a hunter at the prey,
stripping its walls as though peeling bark from a tree.
And from that ruin,
I shaped lanterns.
This was my reclamation:
to take the husk of what once carried me,
to break its spine with my own hands,
and coax from it a heart of fire.
Each lantern as mall sun,
each ember a pulse of survival.
Proof that even what is lost,
even what is torn apart,
can bear light again.
I am the lantern-bearer of my own ruins,
gathering what’s been broken,
setting it burning against the dark.
She teaches me to weave scraps of wood,
splinters of a dismantled house,
to blow fire into the remnants
and make beacons against the dark.
It is the art of surviving with the bones of my ruins,
of gathering the crumbs of fallen worlds
and weaving them into talismans.
Frugality speaks to me of fierce autonomy,
of not begging at modern temples,
of standing tall with what the earth
and my hands grant me.
She is my inner wolf,
the one who guards, who salvages,
who transforms rubble into relics.
She is memory of famine and lean seasons,
the call of ancient blood.
She tears me from the illusions of hollow abundance
and returns me to true riches:
ingenuity, resilience,
the fire that remains even when everything collapses.
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ᛟᚾ La Völva Creates ©
Ferally yours 🐺
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