Baba Yaga and the New Year
When the wind blows gently through the trees, and the air smells almost sweet, that is when the burden shifts in beating hearts and becomes almost impossible to bear. That is when a tingle moves through any living creature, and all of them, they know. They know that she is coming. She comes swooping, but in silence. Soft, but biting. And when she strikes, all stop in her wake. For how could anything move against such a one? And they fear her. All fear her, for it seems that where she visits, there sorrow, pain, fear lie. But that is not so. A fault of poor causality. She is not cruel. She ambles, but it is not a slow movement. She swaggers, but it is not careful. She starts small and hunched, but carries a full burden. She is ready to shed it lightly. And to carry away with her what she needs. Crone-like, but not a single fragile bone, she cannot stop her work until the time comes for her rest. But that is dependent