A hot mug of strong ceylon, mildly sweet and milked, thick like coffee, a draught from the well of life.
Ancient music filtered through speakers, reminding of what was and shall be.
Wisps of incense rising through the light, filling my mind with scents of elsewhere.
A kind cat companion playing just outside my door amongst the tentative sprouts of my garden, life dancing in life.
A lingering chill, clear air breathing like a contented sigh from the quiet mountains.
The presence of gods, whispering patiently, awaiting their revelation.
And an anticipation which challenges all my words:
I do not know enough languages to paint for you the serene thrill of an impending presence, a long-awaited visit, a kind haunting of a living soul soon to manifest. All poetry fails, all prose is just prattle.
I am happy.
I am alive.
I shake my head and smile at how little I’d dared, while Brigid tosses more wood upon the hearth, and laughs.
It is spring. Winter has kept safe all which needed to sleep, has culled from the ground all which needed to die. Now comes to us the awakening, mists falling upon us from the worlds above, from which our lives are seen outside of the time we know.
I have known such joy because of its shadow.
I have known the winter which precedes this spring.
It is as it must be, world without end.
I am all gratitude.
I am all love.