the year’s tree
after her labours
see the year’s high tree
cast off her clothing
her breath has been stifled
the rags of her branches
wrapped up in the dark month
her heart is now withered
under white frozen veils
under great quilts of snow
beyond vision her movement
when the sun starts to turn around
tiny song of unfolding
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4 comments:
After the loss, the "Tiny song of unfolding" made me pause. It's like the still small voice of God that is waiting in us!
that's a good description!
reading aonghas is the only thing that makes me want to make my gaelic better...
really like this one, lovely
it's an odd thing but of all the people writing in scotland today and despite my misgivings about the gaelic, the ones i really rate are writing in gaelic and macneacail in particular
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