One of my ImagiFriendsTM, the multi-talented Tony, wrote the following sonnet for La LobaBlanca.
The white wolf waits in her cold winter cave
protecting her hoard of wet paints and pens,
knowing the stench of her insipid prey,
biting the vein of what they believe in.
Back in the woods where pollution can not
blacken and spoil the crystal-white snow,
she smiles at the stars children have sought,
litters the ground with perfect pinecone prose.
Other creatures scurry close just to hear
phantoms and fantasies worth embracing.
The delicious tone of her call so clear
giving voice to the continued beating,
the worldly pull of our Mother’s heart,
so full of life, reminiscent of art.
Needless to say, the White Wolf is both pleased and honored. I’ve had a lot on my plate and a lot on my mind as of late, some of which I have kept buried deep inside (the White Wolf is inclined to keep things mostly to herself, which even she knows is a questionable approach at handling life’s rockier terrains). To have received this at all was a delight, but it came at a particularly needed time. So, thank you, Tony. Thank you for thinking that the insanity that I help propagate through various online settings is worthy of such equally “perfect pinecone prose.”