Albion, Art, Books, Don and Wen

The Sixth Night…

chamomile

*

Draumas Mægðe

Dreams wake to fear, eternal night wraps icy fingers around the heart. Summoned by need the soul slips quietly into the shadows that veil it from itself.

Ragged wisps of affection drift and fall as he moves across the patchwork fields, black on black.

Starting at every cloud that whispers to the breeze, he wanders in search of guidance and shelter, uncertain of each step, seeking permission for being.

The rune flare lights the way, casting flame on the grass.

Each footfall crushes stars… pure white simplicity, sun-centred, fragile.

The death of flowers releases their essence, a clean, green fragrance that soothes and anneals.

Healing the heart and banishing fear.

Song rises in his breast and his spirit takes flight with the hawk of the morning.

Extract from Dark Sage

***

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