Dancing in this elderly sconce are nighttime dreams of sunlight, warmth, birdsong and green things emerging from the earth. When I am awake, an eldritch music hovers on the edge of my hearing, a fey tune scarcely more than an echo in the wind.
Reed pipes perhaps or a harp? Rose-breasted grosbeaks? The horns of elfland? Bare naked satyrs prancing about in the woods with flutes? The whole thing may be just wishful thinking on my part. I am always restless in March and raring to go, impatient to be putting on my wellies and picking up my gardening tools.
When Beau and I are out on our walks, we listen for geese coming home, and when we hear them for the first time this year, that will be music too. Wherever we are when it happens, we will kick up our heels and be as mad as March hares.
There is magic in this season of emergence and rebirth and greening. There is magic in the sky over our heads, and the trees in the sunny woods. There is magic in my garden, and I am here to take it all in again this year. Hallelujah.
No comments:
Post a Comment