A road less travelled, driving snow and a song from the soul.

Deep inside the belly of the great mother we sit in contemplative silence, the constant drip deeper underground the only sound we hear until, a sacred prayer breaks forth from the soul of my subterranean companion, the oldest instrument mankind has ever had at his disposal gently flows from the vicinity of my friend, notes high and low, a devotional act that transcends sound itself and it is not long before it becomes as the rock, the world, it is all, the sound envelops me and I become a part of it, vibrating through my body this man's song takes me far beyond that shell, I am one with the rock, the water the very wyrd itself, caught within that moment where space and time disappear into nothingness, to become as everything.
The song stops but the sensation continues to hold me, the vibrational note lingers for some while and then myself moved almost to tears we ascend back into the land of ice and snow, " the spirits be with you my friend", kind words from the dark world serve to distract me from my emotionally charged state, as we emerge from from the womb, high above us upon the cliff edge a single hawk watches, a fellow traveller that points to a belonging, like this one a traveller in an unfamiliar land together we navigate through the flow of the wyrd.

Moments such as these are rare and precious gems, shared with others they become as a bond, a connection that runs deeper than the holy springs of this very land upon which we walk , the past week has brought many of these.
Love, trust and shared insights, understanding and many truths were the order of this time, spent in the north of our country among the dearest of friends a treasure is found.
As the red hind leads the way for her offspring through the driving wind and snow, so I too find that those who lead me along the hidden paths are similar in that very nature, guides and mentors within the realms that I would wish to explore, and like the calf I trust them completely.

Meetings and merriment, well fed both spiritually and literally I depart for my return to my home in the south, but not before one more parting gift is given, a gift horse that is not examined in any way, some things seem too good to be true but on occasion they are just good and true.

The noise of the sisters, the clack of the loom is soon replaced by the similar clack of the train as it Carries me toward my home and my beloved, across wood and steel, through cities and across our great land I return to where I am needed, although soon I shall indeed return to what felt like a home from home, and to those that dwell there.

The traveller, perhaps this is the path this year, worthwhile and refreshing, I think I may have caught the bug, and to finish up I have to put that famous saying back into the box marked nonsense as I have found that it is most definitely not grim up north, far from it.

FFF. Tony..