Brigid’s Ritual, Part 4

A warm spring day suddenly cools by ten degrees,
The air is electric --like an incoming storm,
Shadows grow long in our woods
In the dusk-dark of the solar eclipse
A red fox trots by, my spine tingles
At the moment of alignment, the dance
Of planets and stars, mathematical equations--
The musical cadence of gravity,
Our earth twirling in space
And occasionally, predictably, lining up
With other spinning rocks --reassuring and thrilling--
The spectacle moves people to look up in wonder
In step for a moment with one another--
Dancers losing themselves
In the rhythm of our circling in the multiverse,
Time seems to pause as we relish
Our partial measure of the patters before us--
And bow to the mystery beyond.

Laurel Owen, April 2024