FURTHER NORTH

I'm getting old enough to look North, further North. I'm looking to the otherworld. Not that I'm in a rush, but I am acutely aware of the other side. Even at this time of the year, when The Hawk of Dawn is dragging Beltane closer. I look further North. Into the mist. There are ancestors waiting for me there softly singing. When I sit in nature I can hear them, beyond the breeze and bird song. Out there, further North. The veil is thin at Beltane, I can hear them singing, further North. Leaves are bursting free, birds are in glorius song, chasing, chasing. It is warming but still I can sense a chill, a strange chill, behind the spring festivities. Further North.

Settle down, I tell myself, you'll get there soon enough. I shake it off, this feeling of further North, but still, as I go back inside, Im looking over my shoulder, further North.