Roots thaw a spread their gnarled fingers
and find their way unto the heart of stone.
We may amble the earth on nimble toes once more.
Breathe, breathe deeply,
empty of excess, life is in abundance.
Hark! and exhale,
the heart beats onwards.
The dull glow in the eastern sky has wrenched free of horizons.
Kneel down and taste the ash and let our tongues spill soil.
Exalt of thine burrow, and cache furs therein.
Anew; absolve oneself with languid river tendrils.
I recall the dirge of Mabon, tumbling from our lungs,
as we carved a den within finality's rite.
But alas, Ostara is grace us with resurrecting rays.
With aching ague, stone become home.
In red ochre, flesh became bone.
My blood did then thaw and I beheld the glorious sunrise.
Ancient fables wrap their fingers around the mortal coil
and coax an axiom through the veil.
Raven may topple the monolith of cedar
but from its crumbling bark and sodden core
rises a new chute, feeding on those who came before.
From the dying heart will sprout a new seed.