So, When exactly did she come to you my boy?
At what point among the confusion of your life did she pluck you up and mark you as one of her own.
Was it The Sun's rise upon a crisp autumn day, or perhaps that night you sat and watched the Lunar spectacle as she travelled from east to west, radiant reflection upon black water and golden sand, sea spray illuminated bright white as it bubbled and foamed along the shore.
Was it that lone piper who gently serenaded you and yours as the sun rose above the mists of Avalon, those notes that carried you far beyond the realms of men, further still than Arthur's quest.
Maybe it was the broken man, who's own quest for shelter left him cold and desolate, asleep at night beneath the eves of the local cinema, gone soon after dawns break, his whole life consigned to a pair of scruffy polythene bags intended for groceries and not much else. Empathy, compassion and anger were her gifts to you that day, and like the bags, you carry them still.
Could it be the day when you found an injured bird, shaking in its terror, broken wing and eyes as wide as the hub caps of the car that struck it down, the injustice of it all, the lack of sense in this senseless world, you thought a night in an old shoe box with some worms freshly dug from the garden would resurrect this fallen angel, yet in the morning, the dull and lifeless body lay upon and old towel, surrounded by dried up worms intended to fix it's broken wing. Nature was cruel that day as is her way at times, reality and fate also.
Was it That time within the bustling metropolis, when across a sea concrete, of lost and lonely souls, you did first set eyes upon your beloved, that single moment in time when that sense of wyrd was so strong, you knew then that this was a forever moment, a joining, fate's busy plan in action and fruition, that which was alone would never be so again, a kiss beneath the sodium light to seal that bond for eternity with never a regret, Every precious moment a gift from her.
Was it This vagabond tribe that gathered around you both, the sense of absolute love that came with it, blessed with the company of like you found your own, or perhaps they found you, still the result was always the same, an oath unspoken yet tied to it you are, the bonds run deep, was that when she marked you as Hers my boy?
Was it When you took another's life to feed your children, did the blood on your hands make you sad, was the sacrifice worth it my boy? It may not have seemed so, yet it tied you to her in ways you did not know, reaper of souls, pale faced wanderer.
Was it within the cloak of darkness, where you deigned to meet her, never a demand, and yet he took you to her, the crackle of the need fire, music of the night, that acceptance at the crossroads, that divine gift from you both, she told you there would be others, that you would find your family and you did, you never doubted her for a moment.
Was it then my boy?
Well, The truth is my boy!
Are you listening?
You were hers all along.
That breaking light upon a spring day, when you were unceremoniously expelled from your mothers womb, kicking and screaming, into this world of mixed blessings and hurt, before then you bore her mark and will carry it ever more.
You were Hers from day one My Boy.
As was I.
Flags, Flax and Fodder, Tony.