This piece explores the animal truths I yearn to learn. The truths that feel so real, so easy to glimpse, but hard to understand. Warm and wild, I glimse truths peeking from tree cavities. Puzzle pieces in lychen on old, old rocks. The rythm of whats real in the cultural dances of crows. I know there is something they share when they bow and hop and caw real low. I feel it best when I am standing firm and tall, in my most alert and alive moments. But its not in my bones, in my feathers, in my whiskers, like it's in theirs. Just out of reach, probably because I am reaching too hard.
Maybe a generational curse, a stunt in my growth. I think I can't yet be trusted, but in a mischevious way, not in a vengeful way. I once yelled to the foggy ocean, "tell me the truth!!!" And I realized later, it was rude to yell at that gentle fog. An entitled human, yelling at endless, wise waves. 
Maybe time will tell, if I ask real nice. Or maybe I can focus on wonder and mystery and curiosity, and beg them to wait another seven generations. I think they know best to only let me peek, to keep their secrets safe and sound, until I grow whiskers, until my blood is ready, until I have feathers that know the language and low caws of a crow. Until I am worthy to step into a tree cavity, a portal to home. 
I chose a raccoon with a bundle of wild thyme to explore this desperate, curious feeling. My family once knew the truths of Finland and Scotland, where patches of wild thyme were believed to summon fae. I think a mischevious raccoon would choose thyme for their alter, for rosary beads, for luck, for protection, for something I can't yet understand.