Winter white of my Queen’s desire the hunter of the night has come. She nods to me to let him in, and I do so without want of anything more. Upon his back he carries the skins and bones of coyotes hunted in the shadows of the tall forest pines, while the bear is left to sleep in his den of darkness beneath the stones, roots and grass so closely intertwined. He lays the hides upon the large, smooth stone alter along with the dried, white petals of the datura flower, small pieces of bark from the white birch trees and the crystalized sap of the cedar. He then strikes a flame setting the debris to bright yellow and deep blazing orange. The calming scent of the smoke so tenderly seductive floats through the winter’s crisp, cool air. I breathe in deeply, hoping my Queen is unaware of the dreams the smoke and flames are whispering in my ear.