Bridget’s Night

A windy night with the fences banging their weight against the concrete…I like the sound, a natural composition making itself heard here in suburbia. The elemental force behind it trembles  my soul, reacting in delight at Her presence…The Smith, The Poet, The warrior. In older memory still she is known as The Shining One with the blood of the Faye running through Her. She is, in our beautiful celtic way scattered throughout the land and the spirit , a part of who we are without thinking.

Her night, a marker in the dark haze of an uncovering winter, a seed of light for the spirit to see, an idea for the mind to hold. And for the imagination of the future that will be. Bridget holds us this night ( those who would be held ) and kisses our prayers with the dew. She creates a space where it is easier to trust the light that you feel, this is ancient knowledge settled into the night. A womb to grow those fragile hopes in a tangible way, where the bright gentle ideas have tenure. Innocence makes a gallant return to the stage where her bed is waiting. She is full of that pure desire to live and dream.

Remembering the nights that have gone before, some in silence and some in splendor, these accrue to an inherent  sense of responsibility  gathering in my blood, gathering in my years. I am touching upon a place of peace. Releasing old barriers from their posts, creating space along the way.

2 Responses to “Bridget’s Night”

  1. Becky Watson Says:

    Pertinent; Sublime. Touching upon a place of peace. So happy (0; xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

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