Pheasant draws me down the lane
He entrances me with his colours
Unafraid to dazzle.
I pace, thinking how the world has taught me to be careful.
I reach the seven sisters, my Beech pioneer.
One trunk is storm damaged but still stands.
A piece of bark is loose.
I see a bird in flight and let it rest in my pocket.
Five hooded crows circle above.
Be Bold. Be Brave, they cry.
Perpetual memory keepers of Morrigan.
Floating on bog pools,
Entry ways to the underworld
Are the dark and light banded feathers
Of Snipe.
I fish them out
And up rises the bird herself
Calling and darting in a zig-zag
No shooter could hit.
She reminds me not to give up.
To dig around in the mud of everyday,
Seeking answers that will transform.
The forked stick calls to me of choices.
That place where the path divides,
Thickens my throat,
With fear.
I am five, standing at my parents bedroom door,
The terror of nightmare clings
I cannot return to bed
Or disturb their gentle snores.
I am caught on the threshold.
Part of me stands there eternally.
Returning I collect the dazzling colours
Painted by nature.
Unafraid and extravagant.
Be Bold. Be Brave.
Be your true nature.
