Friday, 15 April 2016


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.