Today is Winter. Cold and white and quiet. And yesterday was Spring, soft and warm with birds singing.
Today we fought touching cords that shattered hearts. Must be the Imbolc season of breaking.
Today I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what we have built up or broken down with words and silence. Only that there are tears, and that beneath the snow the water flows.
Today birds flock in the branches around the Bridget shrine. They fly almost cheerily there and yet are no where else about.
Today the trees silently drop piles of snow like oversized flakes and the stream gurgles loud.
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