The song came to me as I sat beneath the branches of Tulip Poplar, a tree with the potency of Lightning and the Tower paired with the promise of Resurrection, of a New Beginning, of a New Day.
The End is in the Beginning.
The song was a gentle lift to my downcast chin. It was an invitation to look up and begin again.
My youngest children and I sing to the morning sun as we huddle on the too-soft boards of the old house’s precarious back step.
The hardest part is over.
She made it through the night.
Somewhere, someone receives
the good news and sighs,
relieved.
I pitch my tent beneath the Black Walnut tree and sleep sheltered by its emerald leaves. In the morning, I linger in the dreaming space of the In Between as I stumble from the tent and turn my face to the East. Beneath my bare feet, the grass is waking, wet and green. A blanket warms my shoulders as I begin to offer the prayer-of-my-heart and sing.
Child of the Light, lift your face to the sun
Child of the Light, greet the day
Night is done
Sing your heart’s song
Lift it up, clear and strong
Child of the Light lift your face to the sun
The last note fades, and a woodpecker begins to beat the drum.
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