On this day last year, I was standing on the corner of Kirk Street and the alley walk to Cromarty Firth when I felt again the undefinable but undeniable presence of mystical things working in my life. I felt like I could walk right through closed doors.
It is the cuirm-bhliadhnail . . . the anniversary of knowing that I have done exactly that.
Last year, I admired wines. This, I’m wandering inside the red world. Last year, I gazed at the fire. This year I’m burnt kabob. Thirst drove me down to the water where I drank the moon’s reflection. Now I am a lion staring up totally lost in love with the thing itself. Don’t ask questions about longing. Look in my face. Soul drunk, body ruined, these two sit helpless in a wrecked wagon. Neither knows how to fix it. And my heart, I’d say it was more like a donkey sunk in a mudhole, struggling and miring deeper. But listen to me: for one moment, quit being sad. Hear blessings dropping their blossoms around you. God.