How sweet the short offering of almost spring...a moon full that the sacred fire of Aries does dance within, low hung thick green shoots groggy in the cold night air. From where does the blistered heart of winter give into a breeze that might greet new lovers through opened window? All this snow and grey-tight through thoughts that only sank lower as clinging to any offering i did amble. How many thin colored cords to weave hope into a long lived pagan party of light and warmth? Perhaps just a moment to begin; early seeds among the hot rows of the greenhouse~a prayer for the eyes that see such newness who walks ever beside and within me, to the angels always laughing, and the water's cool silver breath beckoning.
~N
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