Later I dreamed of a young woman with the wide fierce eyes of an owl. She stood on a mountain top, dark hair flying in the wind. Music came, she danced to a gypsy tune and reached out, hand seeking mine.
Rain thrummed steadily on the roof. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Staining the pillow, shimmering softly in the first faint light of the coming dawn.
I recalled a time long ago, when the still of the winter solstice and the dark of the new moon conspired to bring on a birth. A little girl. The third of three lives I would love with the deep, true love only a mothers heart knows.
She was mystery and quiet, beauty and night. A child of the deep, the winter, the horse-path of ancient knowledge and wisdom. A precious gift from the Great Divine.
* * *
Tonight an owl calls in the dark. Snow enfolds the earth, bringing softness and silence. The solstice grows nearer.
Decades have waxed and waned, solstices and winters come and gone. Yet still, the memory is present and clear. Through the disordered maze of stones and sorrows littering the way between us, Love flows. A great strong river, sweeping away all doubt. The time is precious and unforgotten.
In my dreams the raven haired girl remembers too . . .
The dark thins and fades, the owl falls silent. Dawn dances rose and gold along the eastern edge of the horizon. Night reaches completion and winter nods bravely to the warmth and possibilities of spring.
The sun is on the verge of a long slow rise away from this shadow-time of healing and reflection.
The light is returning, inevitably, and surely as it has for countless generations. Life goes on. The cycles turning, completing, turning again. And just as surely, Love goes on too. Lighting the dark, dancing on the mountain tops, whispering its secrets and possibilities on the wind
You are mystery and quiet
Beauty and night
Daughter of the winter
Child of the Light . . .
Love and Blessings,