I’m not going to the protests tomorrow. Not because I do not support them. Not because I fear violence or reprisals. I hope everyone stays safe. I hope their voices are heard. I’m just unlucky in scheduling.

Tomorrow I’m heading out into the Gorge to see She Who Watches, a female chieftain who was turned into a petroglyph so she could forever watch over her people after Coyote told her women would no longer be chieftains.

It’s this time of year when many cultures, as the nights grow longer and the temperatures colder, gather their loved ones close. We tell stories of our ancestors, of those who came before us. I’m keenly aware of this as my own family has suffered so many losses over the last several years. And I think of a gathering of my beloved Shea family at this time a year ago. Memories of those who have gone ahead of us weigh on me.

This is the time when the more mystical among us will say the veil between worlds is thin.

The chieftain She Who Watches, Tsagaglalal, is an ancestor of this land and, though I have no claim of familiarity, this feels like the right time to seek her out.

And I’ll tell her that women are in places of power now and more will be in the future.