Susan Seddon Boulet "Medicine Dance"
A Woman's Dance
She came to the desert to dance. The woman gatheres a variety of plants: mullen, sage,
chamisa, mint, Oregon grape, aster, eqisetum, and yarrow. She carried them in the folds of her long, red skirt to a clearing.
It was a meadow defined by juniper. She placed the plants in the center and returned to the trees.
She took off her paisley bandana wrapped around her forehead and knelt on the red soil. "Good death," she said, as
her hands sifted the wood dust of a decaying tree. She opened her scarf and placed the henna wood chips on the silk square
After she had gathered enough for the task, she brought the four corners together, tied them, and walked back to the clearing.
Flickers, robins, magpies, and jays accompanied her. The woman carefully untied one of the corners and let the wood dust sprinkle
to the ground as she walked in a circle. Next, she retrieved the plants from the center and arranged them end to end on top of the wood
dust to define her circle more clearly. She liked what she saw.
Movement surrounded her, The wind, clouds, grasses, and birds-all reminded her that nothing stands still. She held up the hem of her
skirt in both hands and began walking briskly around the circle. Deep breaths took the aroma of mint and sage down to her toes. Her
long, spirited stride broke into short leaps with extended arms as she entered the circle dancing, without guile, without notice, without any
thought of herself. She danced from the joy of all she was a part.
Pronghorn Antelope entered the circle through her body. She danced Eagle, Raven, Bear. The Four Seasons sent her swirling as she danced to
ignite the Moon. She danced until gravity pulled her down, and then she rested, her eyes closed, with nothing moving but her heart and lungs,
geating, breathing, against the hot, dry desert.
With her ear against the earth, the woman listened. A chant began to rise. Slowly,she raised her body like a lizard. An audience had gathered.
Each individual sat cross-legged around the plant circle with a found instrument: rocks, bones, sticks, stumps, whistles and voices. For hours
they played music, ogranic and whole, as she danced. Her hands, like serpents, encouraged primal sounds as she arched forward and back with the grasses.
She was the wind that inspired change. They were a tribe creating a landscape where lines between the real and imagined were thinly drawn.
The light deepened, shadows lengtheden, and the woman began to turn. Her turns widened with each rotation until she stopped, perfectly balanced.
The woman stepped outside the circle and kissed the palms of her hands and placed them on the earth. The dance was over.
The audience rose, refreshed. Each picked up one of the plants that held the circle and took a handful of wood dust to scatter, leaving no clues in
the clearing of ever having been there. They disappeared as mysteriously as they had arrived.
And the woman who came to the desert to dance simply ran her fingers through her long, black hair and smiled.
~Terry Tempest Williams, from Coyote's Canyon (1989)
