The end of a year and our seasonal holidays invite evaluation, reflection on what the future holds, and longing for some type of renewal. A fresh start. A clean slate. Restoration. A new green world.
The Grimm fairy tale “The Goose Girl at the Well” is not a holiday story and yet, the symbolic language of transformation and value, of what truly matters in a good life, speak to the concerns and longings of December. Like many fairy tales, characters in this story undergo transformation through encounters with enigmatic forces that reveal deeper truths.
What does “The Goose Girl at the Well” hold for you?
This is the final episode of 2025. Thank you for your attention and support of Myth Matters, and thank you for being you! Best wishes for a peaceful year end. See you in 2026.
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Transcript of The Goose Girl and what matters most
Hello and welcome to Myth Matters an exploration at the intersection of mythology, creativity and consciousness. I’m your host Dr. Catherine Svehla. Wherever you may be in this wide beautiful crazy world of ours, I’m glad that you decided to join me here today.
I have a story for you that isn’t overtly connected to wintertime or our seasonal holidays, and yet it fits with end of the year themes and thoughts. This is the fairy tale called “Goose Girl at the Well” collected by the Brothers Grimm. There is at least one other story about a goose girl in the Grimms Brothers collection. This one isn’t as well know but it’s stuck with me and I hope that you like it as well.
I’ll share some thoughts about the story and where it’s taken me in these final weeks of 2025, after I tell it. For now, I invite you to relax, listen, and enjoy the story. Note the details that call to you or the questions that arise. They are clues to the place this story occupies in your life right now, and they can open up some really beautiful insights and fresh perspectives. Let’s jump right in.
“The goose-girl at the well”
In the language of fairy tales, the decadence, renewal, and necessary connection to life is expressed through the mature and young couples, especially the fresh beauty of the young woman. The father king has forgotten how to be both. His sense of authority and power as the establisher and enforcer of rules and will has overtaken his ability to love. Hence the acts of cruelty and betrayal– there’s the decadence. The youngest daughter is the victim and yet she’s the solution to the problem. This is conveyed in the plot and the conversation and symbols of value that appear in the story.
Once upon a time there was a very old woman, who lived with her flock of geese in a wild, barren spot among the mountains. She had a little house there, surrounded by a large forest, and every morning the old woman took her crutch and hobbled into the trees.
Her homestead appeared quite poor and the old woman herself looked pretty worn. And yet, she was quite active once she stepped into the forest. There she collected grass for her geese, picked all the wild fruit she could reach, and carried everything home on her back. Anyone would have thought that the heavy load would weigh her to the ground, but she always brought it safely home and greeted any travelers that she met on the track quite courteously.
“Good day, dear countryman, it is a fine day,” she would say. “Ah! you wonder how I manage my load and why I must drag grass about at my age, but each must take his burden on his back.” Despite her friendly demeanor, people did not like to meet her if they could help it, and took a round-about way if they spied her in the distance. When a father with his boys happened to pass by her, he whispered to them, “Beware of the old woman. She has claws beneath her gloves. She is a witch.”
One morning, a handsome young man traveled through the forest. The sun shone bright and the birds sang. A cool breeze crept through the leaves and he was full of joy and gladness. He hadn’t seen a single soul when he suddenly noticed the old woman kneeling on the ground cutting grass with a sickle. She had already thrust a whole load into her cloth, and near it stood two baskets filled with wild apples and pears.
She looked up and smiled in greeting as he approached. “You’ve caught me at the end of my work,” she said. “But, good little mother” he said, looking at her load, “how can you carry all of that away yourself?””I must carry it, dear sir,” she answered, “rich folk’s children have no need to do such things, but with the peasant folk the saying goes, “Don’t look behind you, you will only see how crooked your back is!'”
He took another look at the grass and the baskets. “Will you help me?” she asked. “You still have a straight back and young legs; it would be a trifle to you. Besides, my house is not so very far from here, it stands there on the heath behind the hill. You could make the trip in no time at all.”
The young man felt compassion for the old woman. “My father is certainly no peasant,” he told her, “he is a rich count. Nevertheless, it’s not only peasants who can carry things. I will take your bundle.” If you will try it,” she said, “I will be very glad for the help. You’ll have to walk for an hour or so, but what will that matter to you? Oh, you must carry the apples and pears as well.”
Well, this favor for the old woman seemed a bit more serious to the young man when he heard of an hour’s walk, but the old woman would not let him beg off. She smiled and packed the bundle on his back, and hung the two baskets on his arm. “See, it is quite light,” she said.
“No, it is not light,” answered the count’s son, and pulled a rueful face. “Honestly, the bundle is so heavy, it’s as if it were full of cobble stones, and the apples and pears are as heavy as lead! I can scarcely breathe.”
He had a mind to put everything down again, but the old woman would not allow it. “Just look,” said she mockingly, “the young gentleman will not carry what I, an old woman, have so often dragged along. You are ready with fine words, but when it’s time to step up and act, you want to take to your heels. Now, why are you loitering there?” she continued. “Step out. No one will take the bundle off again.”
They set off and as long as he walked on level ground, the young man found his task bearable. But when they came to the hill and had to climb, and the stones rolled down under his feet as if they were alive, it was beyond his strength. Drops of perspiration stood on his forehead and ran, hot and cold, down his back.
“My good woman,” he said, “I can go no farther. I want to rest a little.” “Not here,” answered the old woman, “when we have arrived at our journey’s end, you can rest but now you must go forward. Who knows what good it may do you?”
“Old woman, you are becoming shameless!” said the count’s son, and he tried to throw off the bundle. But it stuck as fast to his back as if it grew there no matter how he twisted and heaved at it. The old woman laughed at this and sprang about quite delighted on her crutch. “Don’t get angry, dear sir,” she said, “you are growing as red in the face as a turkey-cock! Carry your bundle patiently. I will give you a good present when we get home.”
Well, what else could he do? The young man had to submit to his fate and crawl along patiently behind the old woman. She seemed to grow more and more nimble while his burden felt heavier and heavier.
All at once the old woman made a little leap and jumped on to the bundle. She seated herself on the top of it, and although she was withered, somehow that old woman was still heavier than the stoutest country lass. The young man’s knees trembled under his load. He paused and old woman hit him about the legs with a switch and stinging-nettles, urging him on as if he were a beast of burden.
Groaning continually, the young man climbed the mountain and finally- thank heavens!- he reached the old woman’s house, when he was just about to drop. When the geese saw the old woman, they flapped their wings, stretched out their necks, and ran to meet her, cackling all the while. Behind the flock walked an old wench, stick in hand. She was strong and big, and quite ugly.
“Good mother,” she said to the old woman, “has anything happened to you? You stayed away so long.” “By no means, my dear daughter,” answered the old woman, “I met with no trouble. On the contrary, I met this kind gentleman and he carried my burden for me. Not only that, he even took me on his back when I was tired. The journey hasn’t seemed long to us. We’ve been merry and cracking jokes with each other all the time.”
At last, the old woman slid down and took the bundle off the young man’s back and the baskets from his arm. She looked at him quite kindly and said, “Now seat yourself on the bench before the door, and rest. You have fairly earned your wages, and they shall not be wanting.”
Then she said to the goose-girl, “Go into the house, my dear daughter, it’s not becoming for you to be alone with a young gentleman. One must not pour oil on to the fire, he might fall in love with you.” The count’s son didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “Such a sweetheart as that,” he thought, “couldn’t touch my heart even if she were thirty years younger.”
In the meantime, the old woman stroked and fondled her geese as if they were children, and then went into the house with her daughter. The young man lay down on the bench under a wild apple-tree. The air was warm and mild. On all sides stretched a green meadow, dotted with cowslips, wild thyme, and a thousand other flowers. In the midst of it rippled a clear brook on which the sun sparkled, and the white geese went walking backwards and forwards, or paddled in the water.
“It is quite delightful here,” he said to himself, “but I am so tired that I cannot keep my eyes open. I’ll sleep a little and hope that a gust of wind doesn’t come along and blow my legs off my body, for they are as rotten as tinder.”
When he had slept a little while, the old woman came and shook him till he awoke. “Sit up,” said she, “you can’t stay here any longer. I have certainly given you hard treatment, still it has not cost you your life. You have no need for money and land, so here is something else for you.” She thrust a little book into his hand, which was cut out of a single emerald. “Take great care of it,” she said, “it will bring you good fortune.”
The young man sprang up and he felt quite fresh. He had recovered his vigor, so he thanked the old woman for her present, and set off without even once looking back at the beautiful daughter. When he was already some way off, he still heard the noisy cry of the geese in the distance.
For three days the young man wandered in the wilderness before he found his way out. He reached a large town, and as no one knew him, he was led into the royal palace, where the king and queen were sitting on their throne. The young man fell on one knee, drew the emerald book out of his pocket, and laid it at the queen’s feet. She bade him rise and hand her the little book.
She had hardly opened it and looked inside when she fell to the ground as if she were dead. The young man was seized by the king’s servants. They were going to haul him off to prison, when the queen opened her eyes and ordered them to release him. She told everyone to leave the room as she wished to speak with the young man in private.
When they were alone, the queen began to weep bitterly. “Of what use to me are the splendors and honors that surround me,” she said, “when every morning I awake in pain and sorrow. I had three daughters, the youngest of whom was so beautiful that the whole world looked on her as a wonder. She was as white as snow, as rosy as apple-blossom, and her hair as radiant as sun-beams. When she cried, pearls and jewels fell from her eyes in the place of tears. When she was fifteen years old, the king summoned all three sisters to come before his throne. You should have seen how all the people gazed when the youngest entered, it was just as if the sun were rising!
Then the king spoke, ‘My daughters, I know not when my last day may arrive. I will decide today, what each of you shall receive at my death. You all love me, but the one of you who loves me best, shall fare the best.’ Well, each of them said she loved him best,” said the queen. ‘Can you tell me how much you love me,’ said the king, ‘so I can see what you mean?’
The eldest spoke first. ‘I love my father as dearly as the sweetest sugar.’ The second said, ‘I love my father as dearly as my prettiest dress.’ But the youngest daughter was silent. Then the father said, ‘And you, my dearest child, how much do you love me?’ ‘I don’t know and can compare my love with nothing,’ she said. But her father insisted that she should name something.
So, at last she said, ‘The best food does not please me without salt, therefore I love my father like salt.’ When the king heard that, he fell into a passion, and said, ‘If you love me like salt, your love shall be repaid to you with salt.’
Then he divided the kingdom between the two elder daughters. He ordered that a sack of salt should be bound on the back of the youngest, and two servants had to lead her into the wild forest and leave her there. “We all begged and prayed for her,” said the queen, “but the king’s anger was not to be appeased. How she cried when she had to leave us! The whole road was strewn with the pearls that flowed from her eyes.”
“The king soon afterwards repented of his great severity, and had the whole forest searched for the poor child, but no one could find her. When I think that the wild beasts have devoured her, I know not how to contain myself for sorrow; many a time I console myself with the hope that she is still alive, and may have hidden herself in a cave, or has found shelter with compassionate people. But picture to yourself, when I opened your little emerald book, a pearl lay therein, of exactly the same kind as those which used to fall from my daughter’s eyes; and then you can also imagine how the sight of it stirred my heart. You must tell me how you came by that pearl.”
The young man told her that he had received it from the old woman in the forest, who had appeared very strange to him and must be a witch, but he had neither seen nor heard anything of the queen’s child.
The king and the queen resolved to seek out the old woman. They thought that there where the pearl had been, they would obtain news of their daughter.
Meanwhile, in that lonely place, the old woman was sitting at her spinning-wheel, spinning. It was already dusk, and the log burning on the hearth gave a scanty light. All at once there was a noise outside, the geese were coming home from the pasture, uttering their hoarse cries. Soon afterwards the daughter also entered. But the old woman scarcely thanked her, and only shook her head a little.
The daughter sat down beside her, took her spinning-wheel, and twisted the threads as nimbly as a young girl. They sat this way for two hours without exchanging a word. Then something rustled at the window and two fiery eyes peered in. It was an old night-owl, which cried, “Uhu!” three times. The old woman briefly looked up and said, “Now, my little daughter, it is time for you to go out and do your work.”
The daughter rose and went out, and where did she go? Over the meadows and on into the valley. At last, she came to a well with three old oak-trees standing beside it. The moon had risen large and round over the mountain, and it was so light that one could have found a needle in the grass.
She removed a skin which covered her face, bent down to the well, and began to wash herself. When she was finished, she also dipped the skin in the water, and then laid it on the grass so that it could bleach in the moonlight and dry again.
But how the maiden was changed! Such a change was never seen before! When the gray mask came off, her golden hair broke forth like sunbeams and spread about like a mantle over her whole form. Her eyes shone as brightly as the stars in heaven and her cheeks bloomed a soft red like apple-blossom.
But the fair maiden was sad. She sat down and wept bitterly. One tear after another forced itself out of her eyes and rolled through her long hair to the ground. There she sat, and would have remained sitting a long time, if there hadn’t been a rustling and cracking in the boughs of the neighboring tree. She sprang up like a deer suddenly aware of the presence of a hunter. Just then a dark cloud obscured the moon and the maiden put on the old skin and vanished, like a light blown out by the wind.
She ran back home, trembling like an aspen-leaf. The old woman was standing on the threshold, and the girl was about to relate what had befallen her, but the old woman laughed kindly, and said, “I already know all.” She led her into the room and lighted a new log. She did not, however, sit down to her spinning again, but fetched a broom and began to sweep and scour, “All must be clean and sweet,” she said to the girl.
“But, mother,” said the maiden, “why do you begin work at so late an hour? What do you expect?” “Do you what time it is?” asked the old woman. “Not yet midnight,” answered the maiden, “but already past eleven o’clock.” “Don’t you remember,” continued the old woman, “that it is three years today since you came to me? Your time is up and we can no longer remain together.”
The girl was terrified. “Alas! dear mother, will you cast me off?” she cried. “Where shall I go? I have no friends, and no home to which I can go. I have always done as you asked and you have always been satisfied with me. Please don’t send me away.”
The old woman would not tell the maiden what lay before her. “My stay here is over,” she said to her, “but when I depart, house and parlor must be clean so, don’t hinder me in my work. Have no worries for yourself. You will find a roof to shelter you and the wages that I will give you will keep you well.”
“But tell me what is about to happen,” the maiden pleaded. “I tell you again, do not hinder me in my work.” said the old woman. “Do not say another word. Go to your room, take the skin off your face, and put on the silk gown that you were wearing when you came to me. Then wait in your room until I call you.”
As for the king and queen, they had journeyed forth with the young man to find the old woman in the wilderness. Their party was separated one dark night in the woods, and the young man had to walk onward alone.
The next day it seemed to him that he was on the right track. He walked until darkness came on, then he climbed a tree, intending to pass the night there so he wouldn’t lose his way. The moon rose and shone brightly on the surrounding country, and he saw a figure coming down the mountain. She had no stick in her hand but he could see that it was the goose-girl, whom he had seen before in the house of the old woman.
“Oho,” he said to himself, “there she comes, and if I get hold of one of the witches, the other shall not escape me!” But how astonished he was, when she went to the well, took off the skin and washed herself. When her golden hair fell down all about her, she was more beautiful than any one he had ever seen in the whole world. He hardly dared to breathe, but stretched his head as far forward through the leaves as he dared and stared at her.
Either he bent over too far, or whatever the cause might be, the bough suddenly cracked, and that very moment the maiden slipped into the skin and sprang away like a deer as the moon was suddenly covered in cloud. She was gone.
The young man quickly came from the tree, and hurried after her with nimble steps. He had barely set out when he saw two figures coming over the meadow in the twilight. It was the king and queen. They’d seen the light shining in the old woman’s little house off in the distance, and were going to it. The young man told them what wonderful things he had seen by the well, and they knew that it was their lost daughter. They walked on full of joy and soon came to the little house.
The geese were sitting all round it, sleeping with their heads thrust under their wings, and not one of them moved.
The king and queen looked in at the window. The old woman was sitting there quietly spinning, nodding her head and never looking round. The room was perfectly clean, as if the little mist men, who carry no dust on their feet, lived there. Their daughter, however, they did not see. They gazed at all this for a long time.
At last, they took heart and knocked softly at the window. The old woman appeared to have been expecting them. She rose and called out quite kindly, “Come in, I know you already.”
When they had entered the room, the old woman said, “You might have spared yourself the long walk, if you had not unjustly driven away your child, who is so good and lovable. No harm has come to her. For three years she has had to tend the geese, and with them she has learned no evil but has preserved her purity of heart. You, however, have been sufficiently punished by the misery in which you have lived.”
Then she went to the chamber and called, “Come out, my little daughter.” The door opened and the princess stepped out in her silken garments, with her golden hair and her shining eyes. She went up to her father and mother, fell on their necks and kissed them. They all had to weep for joy.
The young man stood near them, watching. When she saw him she became as red in the face as a moss-rose, although she didn’t know why. The king said, “My dear child, I have given away my kingdom, what can I give you?”
“She needs nothing,” said the old woman. “I give her the tears that she has wept on your account and they are precious pearls, finer than any found in the sea, and worth more than your whole kingdom. I also give her my little house as payment for her services.”
Then old woman disappeared from their sight. The walls rattled a little, and when the king and queen looked around, the little house had changed into a splendid palace. A royal table had been spread and servants were running hither and thither.
The story continues but the one who told me the tale had forgotten the rest, so you must guess. Did the beautiful princess marry the young man, did they remain together in the palace, sharing a long and happy life?
Is this story called “The Goose Girl at the Well” because it’s about what happens to the youngest daughter or because of what she signifies, or both? There are two male and female couples in the story: the mature king and queen, and the young man and the goose girl. This configuration in a fairy tale often points to the need for a marriage or balancing partnership between polarities in the psyche that brings about a renewal. There’s a need to re-invigorate a decadent system, that is, a “kingdom” in either the outer or inner world that has lost its connection to life.
In the language of fairy tales, the decadence, renewal, and necessary connection to life is expressed through the mature and young couples, especially the fresh beauty of the young woman. The father king has forgotten how to be both. His sense of authority and power as the establisher and enforcer of rules and will has overtaken his ability to love. Hence the acts of cruelty and betrayal– there’s the decadence. The youngest daughter is the victim and yet she’s the solution to the problem. This is conveyed in the plot and the conversation and symbols of value that appear in the story.
Value and the hierarchy of value. What is truly important in life? This is the question.
Sitting with this story got me thinking about the meanings attributed to this holiday season. “The Goose Girl at the Well” isn’t a religious story or spiritual teaching, and it seems to take place when the weather is mild and the apple tree is fruiting. Not the cold, dark December underway here in Colorado, although maybe one of the geese becomes the Christmas goose at some point, who knows.
But seriously, this is a good time to reflect on what matters most to us and the areas in our lives that need renewal, and perhaps this story is a help in that direction. The themes and values of this time of the year– endurance and faith, generosity and love, renewal and the hope for another chance, to do better or have something better—- are at the heart of this story in my opinion.
Stepping into the specifics of the story, there is a king whose has forgotten the truth of love and value, and a queen who is powerless or believes herself so. There is a wealthy young man who is honest and helpful, willing to prove that his worth is more than his father’s riches and power. Yes, he underestimates the old woman and yet, having been a young person and now an older one, myself, this seems to be a common error of youth.
Then there is the youngest daughter, the goose girl. She symbolizes the renewal, the return of vitality, trust, beauty, love, and a grasp of what is truly valuable.
As the youngest daughter, she was likely poised to become a powerless woman like her mother, one who could be betrayed and robbed of someone whom she deeply loved– or claimed to love. But when this pattern is disrupted, when she is cast out, she is taken in by an old woman who knows more than the rest. I’ll return to the old woman in a moment.
As the “goose girl,” the former princess learns to work and does so goodheartedly. She learns useful skills. Her heart is not hardened. She weeps in the moonlight and these tears, it seems to me, are for the lost love between herself and her family, not despair over her humble circumstances and the loss of the comfy palace life. Finally, and this is an element that I love about this story, the young woman has her own riches at the end. She need not be dependent. She can chart her own course. I wonder, does she choose the young man as husband? In this story, she is not married off by her father.
Whatever type of kingdom this young woman establishes, it will be rooted in love and appreciation for the beauty of life and the world. And her reunion with her parents ushers those values back into her original home kingdom as well.
Let’s look at some of the symbols of value in the story beginning with the one that put the betrayal in motion-salt. If there were an image for something essential to life that’s easily taken for granted, in fact commonly viewed as an enhancement that one can take or leave these days, salt would be it.
It’s often said that water is the fundament of life and the sea was the original source, the womb, and yet without the salt in the sea and in our bodily fluids, there would be no life. And, if you don’t have enough salt in your body, you die. In past times, when acquiring salt required more effort and people to had to travel places where it was accessible and collect it, we find phrases of value like “worth his or her salt.” “Salt” is the root of the word “salary.”
Salt is essential to life but you must have the right amount of salt. Too much salt is a poison. Drink salty water and it destroys the balance of elements in your cells and kills you. So, the youngest daughter’s comment about having the right amount of salt to flavor her food might have sounded trivial and yet, it’s an interesting comment about knowing the right amount. The right amount of salt, and maybe the right amount of love, of demands for pledges of love, for power.
Salt is linked to a couple other symbols of value in the story. First, salt is a protection against demonic forces, which leads me to the emerald book. Because salt preserves food, it’s connected to what is incorruptible and purity. Emerald, like other jewels, is also incorruptible. Emerald green is the color of life, associated with water and rain and in the language of gems and crystals, emerald is associated with Virgo and Jupiter, the virgin and the king. Reason and wisdom. According to medieval legend, emeralds come from the depths of hell so they have the power to ward off evil and strengthen faith and hope.
Which brings us to the pearl. There is a link to salt here, too. As an alchemical substance, salt is the cleansing tear that purifies and transforms bitterness into wisdom. The pearl begins as an irritant and becomes something beautiful. The pearl is a symbol of tears connected to virtue. Honest tears, honest sorrow and grief, not tears of frustration, rage, or self-pity. Not crocodile tears. The suffering that restores the integrity of the soul.
Pearls are connected to the moon, purity, youthful love, and wisdom. The creation of a pearl in the heart of the oyster is a metaphor for the way the self makes something of worth in the psychic darkness. Something of singular value, “the pearl of great price,” the material of “the pearly gates of Heaven.”
Shared associations make a web of meaning between the salt, emerald, and pearl. Another thread or web in the story connects the apple tree and references to apples, the geese, and the pearls. These are associated with Aphrodite or Venus, the goddess of love, beauty, relationship, eroticism, sensuality, and harmony. Qualities that foster appreciation and joy in life and have been, are today, denigrated and degraded by money greedy, power-hungry kings who’ve lost both heart and soul.
Now, the old woman. The crone in the desolate spot near the meadows and forests who might be a witch. She brings to mind the Baba Yaga in her beneficent aspect. An old earth goddess with the powers of life and death, an arbiter of value. Someone who has seen it all and knows human psychology. Someone who can initiate us into deeper truths and transform us.
The Baba Yaga was the subject of the first Myth Matters episodes of this season. Interesting, to come full circle. I’ll post links to those episodes with this transcript. The details about the old woman in our story that point in the direction of a Baba Yaga type, in addition to where she lives, include the geese and the wild apple tree. Geese, are among the Baba Yaga’s animal familiars and one of her animal forms. As psychopomps or guides on a soul journey, the geese and the old woman speak to us of liminal spaces and otherworlds where transform takes place.
If you meet a Baba Yaga, you are either on a life-changing quest or you have been sent to her territory by someone who means you harm. These are the motivations of the characters in our story. They don’t necessarily know it. Like many fairy tale characters and most of us in life, most of the time, they aren’t consciously seeking transformation, that deep renewal, and yet they’re gifted with it by the mysterious forces at play around and within us.
A word about the magic before we pause for welcomes and announcements and a closing poem. The young man couldn’t remove the old woman’s bundle from his back. Once he put it on, only she could remove it. What do you make of this? Does the fact that he was bound by magic to complete a task he believed was too difficult for him, diminish his generous helpfulness in your eyes? Or does magic utilize what is already present and show it to us? Is magic a matter of conjuring something that wasn’t present or is magic a process of revealing? I believe this is the magic called “transformation.”
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This is the last episode for 2025 my friend. I’m grateful for your time, ideas, and support. I hope what is shared here provides some respite and good food for thought, and reminds you that you’re not alone, that there are others around the world who are also on a quest for meaning and insight, or who share your love for beauty and mystery.
There are others who enjoy the humor and surprise in a good story, maybe feel the connection to our ancestors, or move closer to themselves and the world by looking through the lens of a story. Many of us are seeking our own authority, power, creativity, and wisdom, and are curious about the power of myth in our lives and the possibilities it presents for the future, for the renewal of our kingdom.
I’ll leave you with a poem that reminds me of days past when I lived in another place where winter was cold and snow fell. This is “Winter” by Mary Oliver.
Winter by Mary Oliver
And the waves
gush pearls
from their snowy throats
as they come
leaping
over the moss-green,
black-green,
glass- green roughage –
as they crumble
on the incline
scattering
whatever they carry
in their invisible
and motherly
hands:
stones,
seaweed,
mussels
icy, and plump
with waled shells,
waiting
for the gatherers
who come flying
on their long white wings –
who come walking,
who come, muttering:
thank you,
old dainties,
dark wreckage,
coins of the sea
in my pockets
and plenty for the gulls
and the wind still pounding
and the sea still streaming in like a mother wild with gifts –
in this world I am rich
as I need to be.
If we have a better understanding of our need for myth, and all that our old stories offer, we can live more satisfying lives. We can inhabit a better story and create a more beautiful, just and sustainable world.
And that’s it for me, Catherine Svehla and Myth Matters. Best wishes for a peaceful year end. Take good care of yourself and until next time, keep the mystery in your life alive.
Links to the episodes about the Baba Yaga:
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