This morning I woke
to a song from the underworld.

It filtered through the
mycelium of my memory,
and rose up and roused me
in a rebellious outburst of knowing.

It was a mythic melody
passed down through my DNA
of a time when a sharpened sword
was pulled from the hilt with
a ring and a prayer and
firewood crackled
while stories were told

of bards and witches
who celebrated spring in the hollow hills,
and whose joyful love songs
rang out across the fields and forests.

Its chorus was the wail
of a Goddess giving birth on the shores of Llyn Tegid
that echoed through time and space.

And today, on this day of all days,
its tone reverberated
inside the cavern of my brain
and lifted my woeful thoughts
like a flock of birds
startled into the sky

*ǣrendgāst: OE; spiritual messenger, angel = errand + ghost

Image: Diane Perazzo, adapted from free Shutterstock image by Bespaliy


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