Friday 13th
Fireside with two Robins and Burt dog.
I sit and sing the fire into being with hands and voice
They guard.
The fire eats the sign of Gebo I lay in it
then produces the same x in response from 2 other sticks
moved by its work.
The work of fire.
I give thanks for many things,
warmth, light, its transformative power.
The company I keep,
here and at other times in my life,
this year and before.
Send prayers in song
Relish the quiet,
the solitude,
the mumbling song of the flames.
Then the leaves rustle with foot fall on the back path.
Burt growls and woofs, leaving my side to listen better,
hackles up, he stands at the edge of the fire circle.
The birds in the trees, call out their alarms.
Then Burt returns to lean against my side.
I watch the flames and stroke his soft thick fur, silky over his ears.
Loving companion of 13 years.
An unexpected visitor.
She wanders into the Glade
She is a stranger to me, but
Burt greets her like an old friend,
finding a pine cone to gift and play with.
She and I sit together by the fire a while.
Sharing stories which link on synchronous themes.
Like the meeting points of spider web strands,
our lives touch.
The Robins strut their territories,
Bobbing, flicking feathered tails, feeding on my gift of seed.
Eyeing each other and us.
A blackbird pursues one of them on foot, they pass through the circle.
My visitor leaves.
The wind is gentle,
playing with steam and smoke rising up and to the north in exotic patterns.
Enchanting.
Hours pass easily in timeless flow.
Fire time.
Til the logs are ash
The embers soaked with sacred water and thanks.
Burt and I leave.
The Robin sees us off from a Hazel branch right by the car.
Till next time, he says.
Go well.