Hark! They be most harrowed by the baleful storm, thick and rumbling o'er the fens with the pounding drums of the gods. In fright, the men warriors huddled ever closer under protection of the cave walls: safety from Mother Nature being but the only dream of a man. But they be interlopers, these men of castles and knighthood, of armies and society: and so still Mother Nature's rage pounded the Earth, shaking the sky and rattling the eardrums of the men. Closer, closer! they huddled, afraid; not even the thought of mead warm enough to cheer, or to bite back the piercing chill. A crack ripped open the black sky, and the men warriors jumped in fright as a torrent of rain attacked the very ground.
But what was that? Could it be? Yes, it was! Women, no less. Dancing under the waterfalls of water, feet bare on the wet, green ground. Dancing, and could it really be? Laughing, shouting, howling in glee; toes squelching the wet earth, bare feet a steady beat with the pounding drum of the thunder-ridden clouds. They formed a circle, the dance unending. Hands connected, their bodies forming the shape of eternity itself as they hailed Mother Nature and her queendom. Their heads fell back as they embraced the storm, dripping hair of all colors slipping down their backs like coils of colored snakes. Their eyes were closed, their smiles full of rapture as the rain streamed down their faces. These women were undaunted; foundlings in their own right, forgotten by man and adopted by their one true queen: the Earth.
The men watched in surprise, maybe envy, as they shivered in the cold, barren cave: alas, they could not bring themselves to embrace Mother Nature as could the women, could not bring themselves to forget civilization, society; all of those things that meant comfort, that meant they could make-believe themselves kings o'er the land. These women, they could forget their place in society: their torques and rings and beautiful clothing, their lyres and music and poetry. They could forget even man, only in remembrance of themselves being children of the land; of the rain, the storm, the sky; and of their sisterhood only natural. So they embraced the storm, their pounding feet an unending projection of freedom: the harmonic dance of women and the wild.
