the sky today a dream of softness
unburdened by the weight of wings,
but the trees know first
and silently release their confetti colours
to welcome mabon who sings
of the coming of balance
before the world tilts
towards darkness
creeping gently with every heartswell
and journeys move inwards
and then night and cold
and the world in shades of blue
dimly glowing through smoke
where shapes become omens
conjured from fires blooming bright
in celebration and summons and superstition
where we read bones long since buried
only with the intention of being dug up later
which is now, a moment
passing through endless ribbons of dust
and the closest thing
to a not the
beginning.
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