Birch Island Books

Morning coffee,
Clear sky.

Nearly clear sky,
salmon-tinged puffy clouds
low on the horizon.
Color gently saturates the greys of dawnlight,
a soft, soft green which will enrich as the earth spins a little more.

Birches hold on to their black-and-white,
Bare reminders that it is still winter,
and that a Twilight Land is never far.

Good morning.

I am taking deep breaths of rainy air, ground squishing gently underfoot.
There’s a stillness to enjoy, no wind, no critter moving about, no cars up on the road
– on our unpaved, bag-end road with only four houses beyond ours –
just the soft plinking of drops on leaves.

I don’t know if you can take a saunter, my friend,
whether you have time for one,
whether it would take you into crowds to roll or walk outside your door,
or whether you are stuck indoors.

I’m going to take a walk for you,
and share the sights,
just in case you needed me to.

The dogs and I are delighted to present a new book of dog-walking poetry. Won’t you walk along with us from Ostara to Beltane?

The sap is running, friends, and I’m editing the poetry collection which walks to Beltane. Thank you all for encouragement, thank you, dogs, for the good company.

It’s fool’s spring, I know that,
Yet I will be joyful in it.

Now begins the Great Fluffening, when the old is shed to make way for the new and our house is covered in a layer of dog fluff…

There’s dawn-light now when we waken,
and on an overcast, heavy day in February I can see no difference between dawn-light and dawn,

the sun might be there,
or it might not,
and all is pearl-grey with bare black branches.

There is a peace, and I wish it into my bones.

So grateful to the Universe for you – strong, tough, sassy Emily.

You paused; and kept going.

All the way to the cul-de-sac today,
and muscles much better,
breathing much better,
coming back up above some baseline level.

There were snow and rain at the same time,

and plenty of places to dig,

so that’s all right.

I was still ruminating about long term plans.
Where could I be, spiritually and professionally, in a year?
Two years?
Five?

Sgiobalta woke me gently this morning and told me that she had a plan all figured out. What is it, sweetheart? I asked.

Mamaidh, let’s have a beautiful day.

They did it!

Those good dogs took me further this morning than I have gone all winter so far.
Thank you, good dogs!

I told them rhymes of praise and encouragement.
Perhaps a bard of long experience could do better,

It’s a beginning.