This morning the sun turned the hillside to magic, dew-shimmered gold.
Clear, pale light stroked the smooth, bare limbs of trees; lengthened shadows in the secret hollows.
Celandines and windflowers smiled joy from the roadside.
A wren sang fierce beauty outside my window.
A lone first swallow swept overhead and away into possibility, leaving behind a splash of early bluebells. Soon a flood of them will pool the woodland floor, seep along the hedgerow.
Today I am faery-sighted, and my heart sings the song of the awakening earth.
