A woman brought her daughter to the labyrinth walk.  This long limbed, faun-like 13 year old was one of the first to enter the labyrinth and spent the entire time sitting in one of the petals in the centre, soaking up it’s stillness with her own.  One of the last people to leave the labyrinth was an older woman, a wise and juicy crone who began to dance with a gentle, lilting reverie. We were blessed to witness the lovely contrast of wisdom dancing her way through the labyrinth, while innocence held the centre.  What a gift for that girl to have in years to come – the image of an older woman, dancing her path with joy.

That first day,
before I knew
its path would become
my way home,
some part of me
fell into the labyrinth.
A thread of my cocoon
must have snagged
on the silence at its centre
and begun, very gently,
to unspool.

Step by step,
with every labyrinth that I walked
it continued to unravel,
years of carefully spun layers,
leaving traces of presence in its wake.

Today, I felt the tug
of the final fibres being claimed,
my life now woven deep
into that meandering path.
A new story emerging from the old
with a shape and a voice
and wings.

by Emily Simpson 2011