The Hope of Winter

“I have conversed with the Spiritual Sun, I saw him on Primrose Hill” William Blake

It was one of those days today where the clouds are low and almost impenetrable, both at times gloomy and glum. The trees looked more like stone statues than living beings, placed on top of a ground that was hard and cold.

At the top of hill whilst everyone was looking was looking towards the crowded, angular skyline, I looked to the right, towards the setting sun.

It’s waning rays peaked through then another and another, peach and pink hues began to emerge on the horizon gently touching the trees.

Then I saw. Illuminated. The trees were not of stone but stripped back to their bones silently pulling vital energy through crackled roots, their bark slowly softening, their role renewed.

The grey became lilac and powder blue, and above appeared a being of Light.

Published by Kirstie Sivapalan

Writer. Poet. Indie Kid. Crystal Lady. Pisces. Enthuser. Cheerleader. Helper. Geordie Londoner. Sharer of stuff I know. Sometimes found working in HR (but not very often) Oh, and #spoonie, living with ME/CFS. That about covers it.

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