Vernal Equinox
Those days of ice and fire have scorched or
thawed their way
into temporary absence, along with the
blades of wind.
Yesterday a snipe startled from among the
woodland margins
and something like hope rekindled itself in
the trees.
This morning, at the fulcrum of dark and
light, after the night
and its absences, the birdtable wore a
corona of bluetits,
and the pied garb of the pair of woodpeckers
drew together
an alchemy of night and day, the hint of
convergence,
their tails flashing red like passion in
the drizzly dawn.
Now this pot of tea by the window; buzzard
launching
from the tall ash; single goose heading up
the valley
out of the mist, surfing the first wave of
light.
© Roselle Angwin, in All the Missing Names of Love (see sidebar)
Utterly lovely, Roselle. Such a quiet calm came over me as I read it and yet it's vibrant too. I particularly like the 'fulcrum of dark and light' and 'alchemy of night and day' and the idea of hope rekindling itself in the trees'. As a dawn walker I can really connect with that night-day transition time.
ReplyDeleteAnd could you remind me – I always forget: how does fire come to be associated with north and winter? I think it's Norse legend, isn't it? Something to do with volcanic activity up there, perhaps? I feel I should know.
Thanks and love, Miriam.
Thanks, Miriam - yes, at the back of my mind there's something to do with either Iceland or Greenland and Norse legends and lands of ice and fire, which was the old name of one of those two! (And yes volcanoes and geysers/hot springs.) Rx
ReplyDeleteBut also there's the shamanic Medicine Wheel: there are various ascriptions of direction/element/quality/faculty but in the one that feels right to me, north is associated with the fires of intuition and imagination, spirit and winter. I've been thinking about a blogpost along such lines, when I get time.