Milk flower

February, once more,
and the World is hopping/
outside of one circle,
into the next;
new beginnings.

The sky- red peach
-awakening to the
deep call of crows
at the first frost of morning.

Saint Bride has carried
back the light
on the wings of the oyster catcher
and the islands
are painting their hills
green in gratitude.

I fill my room with lavender
and sea thistle
in brown medicine bottles;
A botanical apothecary of life.

You send words to me
across a stormy sea
and I remember the wild flowers
of Inch island
in August's haze.

But the light is changing/
resurfacing/ reflecting
and all around of us
will be translated
into other words;
written on the wind.

I dress in white, again
and welcome back the snowdrops;
graciously