The Second Year - Spring
Imbolc-Beltane 2004

Last night I ignited
    A new beginning;
First fire in
    My fire,
    My hearth,
    My home.

Welcoming
    The spirits of the flames;
Welcoming
    My spirit
To the place of life,
    My life;
Uniting with me
    In a union of fire,
    Communion of fire;
Beauty and warmth
    In one.

The link is forged
    In flame,
    In iron;
Brid’s forge, Brid’s fire,
    At Brid's time ;
Three and Two and Four
    Is Five and Nine;
Magic numbers twisting,
    Twisted in iron;
Three for the Three Worlds;
    Land, Sea, Sky;
    Past, Present, Future;
    Maiden, Mother, Crone;
Two for Duality,
    Male and Female,
    God and Goddess;
Four for the four Directions,
    North, South, East, West;
Five for the five Elements,
    Spirit, Earth, Air, Water, Fire;
Nine for the Nine Maidens
    Whose breath
    Warms the cauldron
    Of life;
Three times three,
    Magic concentrated
On Friday the Thirteenth!

Magical protection
    Twisted into iron;
Fire licked iron,
    My iron,
    My fire,
    My hearth,
    My home,
    My future;
No beginning,
    No ending;
Of the heart,
    Peace…

She rests and then takes
    Her post on the gate.
My garden is empty
    Of its usual flurry
    Of finches and tits.
Only the hungriest remain
    To risk her claws.
She’s off again!
Another tit
    Dashes for cover
And she flies back
    To her relentless watch.

Beautiful she may be
    But I’ve had enough;
I don’t feed birds
    For her pleasure.
I open the window
    And off she goes;
Hugging the hedges
    And dodging the shrubs,
Then a low sweep
    Across the meadow
To her refuge in the woods,
There to resume
    Her watch…

There is a power in darkness,
    Strong and impelling;
Drawing me into itself
    Until I lose myself
    In its ensnaring web…

And in this dark silence
    I will call the spirits
    That rule this darkness;
To bring me that I need,
    That power of change:
To shake me from the binding cords
    That now imprison me…

So to this silent darkness
    I now let go my scream!
To go where it will
    And hope it may be heard
    Not only by those dread spirits,
But more, much more,
    By me…

In the high clouds
I am kestrel
brown of feather taut of wing
quivering over vole-midden
shining and moving
in the nest fluffed fledglings
hungry and calling
I dive deep deep for fur and entrails
and strike and tear
at the heart of the world.

In the wild grasses
I am serpent
silently deadly
sliding between the rocks
with sun’s warmth for blood warmth
to my children no mother
I give them life
they must take for themselves
fire-figured
my tongue like flames flickering
I take the lark’s egg
swallowing whole.