oberonestones

In a silent way Michael is.....

In the garden I remember and still walk, there is that one  cloud--hanging over the mountains in the fading light. The fading light seems to call me to another world in this cottage TirnaOg. Down on the flat a similarly-shaped ribbon of water echoes the cloud, reflecting shiny pink in the dominant blue-grey of dusk.  lights stretch out as far as the plains meeting the hills rising into mountains. I am walking in solitude, seeing the luminous landscape as if for the first time, heart leaping to embrace the crescent moon. I am aware of striding legs carrying me forward, as thoughts connect the dots of multiple fragments of consciousness into one. There was a corner back there somewhere that was turned, when the myriad chattering voices of society within me suddenly became silent, and only stillness remains. I am remembering and reliving the sublime landscape, the ineffable beauty of being-here-and-now-in-the-world, that every time fades from memory just as this twilight is fading into night. I have a stone which wants life, I have the moon for light, my breath of life, the hands of my craftman father, the Gentleness of my dear Mother, the Love which surrounds me, the pain which reminds me, the stars which inspire me, the fox who will soon come for his left overs, the music which encapualsates me. There is a clarity in this slience and silence is good for me. I yield to the craft. I honour the craftsman. I rejoice in the gift of accountability, the lifting of a rock, the patience of watching, the spiraling dust into the midnight air. The dance has begun

mivhael

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