Yesterday, swimming fast through the icy spots in a spring-fed lake, a friend pointed out the blue heron flying over our heads. A little later, she identified a small wildly flapping figure as a bluebird. When my eyes followed the shape, and I saw that sudden flash of blue, I felt triumphant.

I like my ordinary urban environment. But this is where my kind belongs. Living in the woods, we learn to see, hear, smell and touch more keenly. Coming here every spring, I feel my senses are dull compared to the women around me.

These womyn come from many different places to gather at Indian Springs State Park every spring. We are all lesbians, all writers. We write about this land, once sacred to the Cree. We write about sex, and make each other squirm (for more than one reason). We write about birth and death. I could listen to these stories for hours - and here, I do.

It's a homecoming for me. The land is a place that my body recognizes as its natural habitat. And these womyn - my heart knows that they are my tribe.

June's main astrological event is Saturn's entrance into Cancer. And Cancer is the sign of home. It's about returning to the womb, to the primeval connection with mother. It's about finding the sources which nurture you.

Saturn will be in Cancer for two and a half years, and duing this time, we will all be looking homeward. But we won't find the same places we left. Every turn on the spiral echoes some part of the past, but no turn replicates the past exactly.

For many of us, this will be a time of hard work, as we struggle to reconcile our growth and our roots. Many people will be reconnecting with their families, with places they left long ago, or with old emotions.

As a water sign, Cancer is all about emotion. And these will change from moment to moment, as we open ourselves to the places and people that trigger us most intensely.

Saturn is the Crone planet, the wise elder within yourself. And when she moves through Cancer - the sign ruled by the moon, the sign closest to women - she wears the robes of your mother, your grandmother, and all the mothers before her. She gives you their old messages, messages you remember well.

These were the women who nurtured you, trained you, protected you and limited you. They insured your survival.

Cancer is the sign of memory, and our memories are rich, lavish and colorful. On some level, we remember every place our hectic toddler feet took us. We remember emerging from our mothers' bodies. We remember past lives, and every previous encounter with those who form the framework of our current lives.

Our bones remember the lessons our ancestors taught. Our bellies remember the first woman who ever existed, as she gazed up through the canopy of trees hiding the African sky.

As the sign of home, Cancer is also connected to patriotism, a warping of the natural territorial instinct. The land is where we belong, and we all know that. But our governments tell us, over and over, that our particular land has to be defended from "the others" - the strangers, the demons, the infidels - by any means necessary.

Of course, the power of the US government is mostly used to take or manipulate the lands of other people, rather than to protect our own. But the emotional tagline that's used to sell these policies is always something about defending our homes and families. Everyone resonates to this, on a very deep level, and so it's one of the most effective tools for manipulation.

The protective instinct will be especially strong while Saturn is in Cancer. But what are we protecting? Do we need to protect a way of life built on exploitation, and forever unstable because of the force of frustrated dreams all over the world?

Or can we use this energy to bond to our mother, the land? Can we use it to find our tribes? Can we use it to reconnect with the places and people that we've left behind? Can we use it to remember the wisdom buried deep in our bellies?

We can go home, but we need to learn to read the messages of the natural world, and the messages of our own hearts.

Returning to the source, no longer children, we find that it's now up to us to protect the land and the people who gave us life. And for that, we need to go beyond our immediate instinct to clutch at what's closest to us.

We can go home again. But let us take the gifts that we've gathered on our journeys - such gifts as understanding, compassion and objectivity. Most important, let us keep in mind that every patch of land is sacred to someone. And the safest world is one in which everyone feels at home.

Index of Jenny Yates' Writings on Lesbian.com