In the dewy-promised morning of a welcome unfolding, my limbs and words reach out to those long unseen.
In a hot afternoon of mid-day revelry, hearing delighted cheers from the joust over the hill, playing tag with the sunlight to not burn my skin,
In the smell of the blacksmith’s fire as it stings the back of my throat and the soft fragrance of honey from the slowly melted wax,
Around the soft wool plaid-covered dining table and softly falling ash from the open fire, eating freshly simmered stew off oversize wooden spoons, next to elders and the younger, all helping cast off, understand, and slow down the mundane dragging of life,
Reclining in swirling pipe smoke, calling out insults and verbal barbs with kinsmen, wrapping my tongue around thick pronunciation and enjoying their faces as they consider a comeback, reveling in their creativity,
Oh, how time slows.
Watching nature wake up, a rain of inchworms becoming a cloud of butterflies, verdant leaves, flowers, and a wee hidden sheep cushioning the visual space.
Air thickens with humidity until the tantalizing promise of rain finally blows through the glen, where nothing can thwart the pulse of life and joy that moves through.
A final exhausted circle of dusty day-worn bodies teasing, jovial and affectionate. Hands passing flasks and bottles around, each one carefully and considerately conserving a sip to share and make room for the next,
Alas, it does not stop, and so, until next time…