i drop into the gully through the hole in the fence where they put the Grass-cuttings and it’s like coming back to a crowd of friends again..
i’ve been absent and the change is in their Growth, the pink plastic upturned baby’s crawler has only moved 5 yards downstream all Winter. otherwise it feels the same, over low wire by the Pines and i collect Sheep wool complete with bits of Briar and Muck in my pocket for the next time i have to start a Fire from Ember
Bealtaine was like a Heat inside me, roaring, simmering, flowing, discharging, conducting. now the very feet are tracking across all the old Terrain again, like Skin i’ve starred at countless times, Green Flesh
i forgot it’s just past lambing so the Ewes are lippy, jumpy. almost at the Forest edge i clock the lone Rock and a Gealbhan | Sparrow stands taut as a dart on top
transiting to the Green space is like coming into my heavy heart, but the Mossy glow of it wraps me up a little. the Woods is what i need, the spread of Wet Lime Shoots where Water flows through it, the young Beith | Birches beckoning me in further, the Sfganam | Sphagnum wooing me
Wetness abounds, as in my eyes, like glue, mixing in the palettes of the Green Pink Grey Browns a whole hue of feeling. there’s no limits to the children, everyone is letting go their Seeds in gushes, Sphagnum fronds rise up, Star-capped molded fingers sucking Juices from the mother Marsh below, heaving, Wet and calm
seeking any answers, i rest my brow on the dried green of a Beith branch, a totem Éin Chreiche | Bird of Prey or Sionnach | Fox please? the call is answered by a little lone Séangan | Ant walking upside down towards the tree base through a maze of cracks and pitted, peeling Bark
i take the advice and crawl up the Péine dearg | Red Pine nearby, keeping my foot-holds close into the trunk, its rust-like, peeling outer layer a tapestry of Wooden armour
being in the Air is some relief, strength flowing, part of the realness. i accept my place and i accept the loss, for every caress, a cut
i tied myself with a rope so tight i didn’t feel him let it go. afraid for the future
i get to the Water, knowing it is the Salve. i undress, the wild Sabhaircin | Primroses kiss their blossoms at me. Tugaim Anaíl | i Breathe, Life of the Stream falling down on me, in it, under it, the third and last is for his Spirit, that it may rise through this fair place and a communicant, maybe a little Primrose baby will wet his passing body with its Dew
for every rise a fall, every woman a man and every Breath a pause. for each cold foot warm feet
the Tide has turned and i ride it home, saturated with a Glow not my own, an offering made, the lips parted to break, the portent beaks of Fabhcún and Prehaun | Falcon and Crow wheel finally in the air above me, a lost Egg cracked in one horny Claw or the sly decoy manoeuvres of two loving parents?
i seek the Sceach Ghéal | Hawthorn out for a Hearty feast