Barefoot: A Return to Knowing
Day 4: Reckoning
She woke with outstretched arms. Her smile was illuminating from the inside out. She felt alive, free, ready to start her day walking on air. It was a feeling like no other – like nothing could stop her fem fulfilling her greatest desires. The joy of the day before still clung to her skin like sweat – she wanted to return to the pasture, to dance with Mother Earth, to sing with the birds and walk barefoot across the damp grass. She raced to the door.
She felt it the moment she stepped off the porch. An uneasiness in the air, telling her to stay. For a moment she thought to herself, “I could stay, finish all the things I’ve sat aside to fulfill this silly request. After all, I already did it. I don’t need to finish the seven days. I now know who I truly am.”
She turned back to the door. Her hand on the knob.
You are not done, yet. Walk.
Her shoulders softened and she turned to face the day. She took a deep breath and obeyed.
She hurried across the pasture toward the pines, down the path that led to the pond. She stopped suddenly. There were no birds singing, no tree frogs croaking, no grasshoppers hopping, no wind rustling. The world before her stood still. Even her breath fell silent.
A rustle in the underbrush startled her. Then she heard the snarl. She turned toward the noise and there it was. A young coyote, ten feet ahead. Low to the ground, teeth bared, eyes locked on hers.
She tried to run but caught her foot on a prickly vine. Her knees hit the ground hard and scraped against rock and twig.
She should have been afraid, and she was. But something deeper held her gaze steady. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t beg. She met its stare. And after a long, tense beat, the coyote growled once more, then turned and disappeared into the trees.
She stayed on her knees for a while, breathing hard. When she finally stood, her legs trembled. Blood slid down her shins. She turned back toward the pasture, stepping toward her the house.
You are not done, yet. Walk.
She rubbed her knees and continued down the path to the pond.
Only a few steps deeper into the trail came a sound like dry leaves shaking. A familiar sound that froze her in her tracks. Just a few feet in front of her, in the middle of her path, lay a rattlesnake.
Coiled. Still. Watching her with unreadable eyes.
She instinctively stepped back, slow and steady. One false move and the snake would lunge. But her heel sank into something soft, something alive. She lost her balance and fell back, her hands landing in the frass. The fire ant stings were instant.
She scrambled to her feet, trying to break free but they were everywhere. Climbing her legs, her arms, her neck. Each little bite was a tiny flame. Dozens of them. Then hundreds of them. They found her face. Her scalp. She tried to slap them off without turning her back on the snake, who rattled a warning.
Her whole body pulsed with panic. Tears blurred her vision. And then -- she broke.
“Why?” she screamed. Not at the snake. Not at the ants. At the sky. At Gaia. At Spirit. At the One who had danced with her, lifted her, shown her the wings.
“How could you bring me this far—just to throw me into the dirt? Do you want me to give up?”
Her knees hit the ground again. She wasn’t sure if she was praying or cursing. “Why?”
You are not done, yet. Walk.
The snake uncoiled and slithered into the pine. The ants stopped biting. But the jolt and the sting of these 3 surprises kept her breaths quick and short. But she obeyed and walked, her hand held close to her heart. Stopping occasionally to scratch the itch of the bites and to touch the dried blood on her knees.
As soon as the made it to the edge of the pond, she saw it. Half-hidden beneath a tuft of grass,
was a patch of plantain broadleaf and green, its edges kissed by dew. She blinked. Not twenty feet beyond that, yarrow. Then mullein, soft, silvery, waving like a whisper.
She didn’t know how she knew what they were, but she knew.
Her instinct guiding her hands as she picked what she needed and crushed leaves between her fingers. Pressed them to her wounds. She smeared the green pulp over the bites, the stings, the torn skin.
The relief wasn’t immediate. But it was felt. It wasn’t just a balm for the body, it was a balm for something deeper. A promise that the earth had not turned its back on her. It had simply asked her to walk barefoot through the pain long enough to find the medicine already waiting.
She walked the rest of the way home slowly, clutching the bundle of wild medicines in her hands. Her body throbbed. Her spirit trembled. The wounds were still fresh, the questions still burning, but the earth had answered her in its own way.
You are not abandoned, it had said. Even in pain, you are being tended to.
And though she didn’t feel strong, or wise, or anything close to healed, she knew this much:
She hadn’t given up and she was far from knowing who she really was.
That night, she dreamed. Hands, not hers, anointed her skin with river water and crushed herbs. Cool palms moved over her knees, her arms, her temples. She heard humming, low, rhythmic, wordless. A woman’s voice. Or maybe the earth’s. She couldn’t see a face. She didn’t need to. The presence was enough, and it spoke in reverence to her.
You are not alone.
Come back next Friday for Day 5 of this flash fiction series and discover what else our leading lady discovers about who she really is. Don’t forget to like, comment and share. And if you feel led - subscribe. With great love and gratitude. C