Hecate’s silver crescent hangs low a pale indigo horizon. The air is cool and sweet and leaves my lungs slowly as I walk lightly on the frost, afraid of disturbing the peace that surrounds me. A lone bird sings, inviting the warmer weather she left behind. The still beauty of the watchful trees fills me with peace. I utter my thanks and return to the waking world.
April 3, 2008 by Jerome M