"The Wild Woman … lives in the green poking through snow, she lives in the rustling stalks of dying autumn corn, she lives where the dead come to be kissed and the living send their prayers. She lives in the place where language is made. She lives on poetry and percussion and singing … She is the moment just before inspiration bursts upon us."
Every woman needs a little gypsy in her soul... There is, I think in all women, a wild and an ancient gypsy who cries in anguish when we starch her flat. There is a part of us that can never, ever be happy until the gypsy can dance. [Image courtsey Google]
[Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves]
