The dawn today is grey, angels’ tears stream down as diamond shards down from silver sky.
I lay back down to dream, yet unquiet, my mind worries at its every seam. I doze a while and silent, almost waking, drift that I mistake in the much fogged windows mists of elder times with mere muggy steam.
A raven bird circles yet on high, sure tis one of the Danna who knows the trick to fly. How far into fairy am I now become? Shall my feet yet bear me back from whence I come?
I leave my walls in slumber’s flight, now to the forgotten forest path and all is right.
I feel the earth and leaves shifting beneath my feet, sweet is the smell of deep earthen places an mist lay all about and too the song of owls my coming to greet.
I walk beneath the trees, high as temple arches, trunks of oak and birch, all I greet and on my dream-self marches.
I come then to a fork within my path, where withered crone leans upon her black, gnarled staff. Her have I seen here often times before, she often darkest council brings but catch her at her game and the heart for her blessing sings.
She points me to the ways and as the sighing wind, she speaks, one way to comfort and one way to toil for he who seeks.
I know this trick, she tried it once before, the way comfort is but false, nought I so gain be earned.
I take the toiling path, as I shall again and more for all my lives returned.
I doft my hat to you lady, well have I my lessons learned.