The day was cold and unpredictable, the sky turned a hundred times from blue to gray and back, while beneath it the ancient land worked her spell deliberately, pulling me in slowly, bringing out her treasures one at a time :
The pale celadon lichens on flat rocks; the ochre and ashy ones mottling roof tiles; the slim coat of apple green sheen on cedar branches; the tender green moss, soft as yielding stubble, on old stone walls; the rustling of dry ivy in the breeze; the rhythmic plops of snow melt leading bird tweets; sweet scent of burning apple wood…
I followed an atavistic call and stepped under the cedar by the gate when snow was falling in barely-there flakes
… And Merlin’s world opened as I looked up the tree: snow outlined each branch and twig in a thin pencil line. Nothing was gray, black or brown, but a vibrant green, soft, smoother than a child’s skin, fragile as a moth’s wings… all sugar-coated Life. Caught in a time warp, achingly beautiful, it shimmered in the light of my druidic cathedral.
In that hushed space, ancient spirits smiled as I tugged lightly at a branch and let tiny flakes shower my face with kisses.