many grey veils, wrapped up, a old wish woman, mother earth in winterplumage.

this is the moment...

the sun rises, a sky in all the colours of cold and silence. a flame of warmth breaks, cutes through fog and rags.

this is the moment...

unbreakable rare it pokes upwards, bud of snow and spring green: the young bride. as for ever, endless nourished by the first ray of the sun.

this is the moment...

I hear in the stable the birth bleating, weeping the feast song on mother earth...

this is the moment: imbolc, 2001   

...
/|\ neeltje & paul hoftijzer

vele grijze sluiers, verpakt:
een oude wijze vrouw,
moeder aarde in winterkleed.

het is het moment...

de zon komt op,
een hemel met alle kleuren kou & stilte. een vlam warmte breekt,
snijdt door mist & flarden heen.

het is het moment...

onbreekbaar ijl steekt het omhoog, knop van sneeuw en lentegroen:
de jonge bruid.
zoals al eeuwen opnieuw
gevoed door eerste zonnestraal.

het is het moment...

in de stal hoor ik geboorte blaten,
mekkert zijn feestlied op moeder aarde...

het is het moment:
imbolc, 2001

...
/|\ neeltje & paul hoftijze

Haiku for Imbloc

A baby in the doctor's office
squirms like a waking cat
his curved smile

A Black Ash threads the sky
its baskets spring open
little knots visible against the blush

of the crash the dead
no longer anonymous bone
their torches light the minds of searchers

As if I really had the moonstone
flesh of candles, the holy purity
from which they shine

Sunreturn at the Lake

A single candle
in the darkness of the cottage glows.
Out and about the soft white flakes
of gentle snow descend.

As above the soft, cold
gray of cloud beneath the sky;
So below the hard, cold
gray of winter's ice upon the lake.

Quiet,
but for the soft, soft sound
of falling snow.
And the candle's light.

Across the frozen water,
a bright splash upon a barren shore,
in silent wisdom a fox stands, still . . .
candle-flame reflecting in his dark eyes.
And he senses warmth,
and will not trust the ice.

Quietly, beneath the snow,
around his soft paws the infant snowdrops wait.
It is Imbolc.

A single candle in the darkness of the cottage glows,
and the hearth brightens,
and the Sun will return at last.


AncientDruid
Imbolc 2001