It's been way too long, but I've been feeling blog-stuck, so here's a short little piece I wrote recently, just to get things moving again:


Fire is the Song. It is the leaping flower. It is rage, love, and hope, all of the things that smolder in the heart and fill the eyes. It is the wild, calling from the top of a mountain, the first flash of the dawn star. Sing, and the fire will come.

Water is the Dream. It is the sweeping fields awaiting harvest, the taste of the future on your tongue. It is the now and never-to-be. It is the un-graspable. It is deep breathing in a dark room. It is the midnight silver on the needles of fir trees. Dream, and the water will come.

Earth is the Memory. It is the thick-bowled oak tree. It is the endless turning, the never-changing, the deep rooted. It is the stillness before a question. It is the cool clay banks that guide the river. It is the all-swallowing roar of sudden anger, the grinding of boulders, the crashing of ancient trees. Remember, and the earth will come.

Wind is the Dance. It is the soaring, swift-winged kite hawk. It is the hidden whisper and the sudden shout, the brilliant flash of lightning that strikes and is gone. It is the great-pushing, the up-lifting, the rain-bringing. It is the quick smile and the swift embrace. Dance, and the wind will come.