(Reflections on a tentative start on the Druid path).
Lights on the water reflect on the plough
When do we begin?
Footprints in damp earth, buds blossom now
Where do we begin?
The fire and the maiden, the smoke and the sap
How do we begin?
Circle of water, sea and sky’s trap
Should we begin?
The harvest and first loaf, light and earth wed
Who should begin?
From wheatsheaf to far horizon we’re led
Now do we begin?
Herbs in the cauldron, a yew tree bower
Can we still begin?
The lights grow cold with darkness’s power
Soon, now we may begin.
This Empty Page
(A Midwinter muse).
So long seems this winter
world of snow before me now
bone coldscape of hardened flake
unmarked by sullying print of paw
Whiteout without and so
within awaiting east wind’s
first biting breath to thaw
the frost-locked flood to wash
the colour in tumbling streams
of chaos across this empty page
Below ground’s virgin canopy
a stir of movement signs all life renewing,
growing first in the richwarm dark,
coiling to burst in fountains of beauty
when the white tide turns
on the wheel of the year of men
And the world waits
for the first sprouting tip
to blast a breach in this glassy snowscape,
glistening listening as if to hear
from where the first breath comes
and in the power of her song
will fill and flourish
and fruits flood forth
on bending boughs
as beauty’s bounty
transforms as if forever
this empty page
to a living thing
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