At the River Crossing

I am the child of root and air, the song
of limpid river, tumbled rocks;
my father feathered black, my mother brown
and pocket-faded, full of words.
I sing and shape the stumbles into spells
of love for Crone to honey-fill her jars,
for Wizardโ€™s far-fetched flings at sun and moon.

Inspired by A Prompt Each Day’s midweek wordle, which sent me back to my Hiraeth-world.

21 thoughts on “At the River Crossing”

  1. I usually read your work several times. I experiment, in my mind, with cadence and timing.
    Seldom am I happy with my first reading. But I’m always happy with the fact that my consternation allows me to read it over again. I really liked this one.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Well, wow. I think I know what you mean about experimenting with different ways of reading (I hope it’s not always due to lack of clarity in the writing). It has been a looong time since I read my work out loud to others. I’m glad you liked this one!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. “I sing and shape the stumbles into spells” ::contented sigh:: Aside from the fact that I love these characters and always happy to read more of their story, this is so lovely! I like that this gives a bit more of the other side of the story.

    Liked by 1 person

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