When the birds are just tuning up still,
And the dawn breaks on your windowsill,
And when you’re ready for her mercy,
And you’re worthy,
It will come*
“You couldn’t have a better day than today!” said the man with his dog. “Isn’t it gorgeous? You can still smell the rain …”
Sap drizzled from the trees like sweet lemon icing.
Waters of the stream sounded like a fine Lady’s lace.
Even the trees curled their bark into ruffles.
Each standing proudly in their own hallowed place.
I walked quietly along the forest floor.
I palmed the smooth ruby skin of a family of Madrones.
And sang to a spider weaving her gossamer web.
I stumbled upon a land of Faeries.
On the edge of a mountain.
And the throne of a Queen made of stone.
I slid between the thick thighs of the stone.
I nestled my cheek to her downy green floss.
She cradled me close to her velvety breast.
And whispered to me from her soft verdant moss.
She whispered a lullaby of Waterfalls and Ladybugs.
Of the Moon and the Stars in the Darkness of Night.
Her lullaby pulsed from the Heart of the Earth.
And whispered the words of the Dawn’s coming Light.
* Lyrics to “Her Mercy” by Glen Hansard