Earth held its breath,

Watching the black filigree fingers reach to touch

The red, orange, yellow silk spread; lifting to catch

Pale blue ribbons drifting in the still clear air.

Silent, the hills lay back against the glowing cushions,

Breathing in the respite from winter death,

Stretched in dark protection round a silvered pool

Frozen in orange reflection.

A blackened shell of shelter,

The old croft absorbed the brilliant blessing,

Awaiting the beasts, warmth to bring back life,

Awaiting birth, awaiting rebirth.

Gráinne Smith