Everything is still now. Mother Earth quiet, getting ready for the coming storm.
Long ago on a similar day a child was born. A little boy with golden hair and eyes like a lions. A mother's love, a mother's pride. Born amid great tall oaks and slow southern hills. On a farm overlooking river curves and the blue-grey folds of ancient peaks., it was a time balanced precisely between winter and spring.
Years passed, the mother's true heart loved deep, but the bond was thwarted. and broken, taken by the hunger of one whose emptiness could never be filled. A thief with grasping arms and a mouth full of cleverness and false divinity. Usurper of innocence and God-given rights.
More years passed and the boy grew into a man. The mother's true heart loved on. Steady and unwavering she waited.. Getting ready for the storm which would one day come.
The wind whispered, the seasons sailed by, winter, spring, summer ,autumn. Still the mother waited, drawing strength from her love, her trust.
The cycles of the wheel turned, the stars shimmered on their courses, and yet another winter melted slowly into spring.
Great storms came, tiding over the weak and unwary, blowing through walls and doorways, seeking to restore the natural order of lands, and hearts.
In this impelling time, between winter and spring, wild geese cry and take flight, wing to wing, with last years children.
The mother's true heart loves on, remembering closeness and a bond shared only by one.
Long ago a child was born . . .