Brigid’s Ritual, Part 6

Dried herbs hang from rafters
In the small kitchen,
Ariel and I sip coffee before dawn,
Already the brightening sky turns
Black night to purple through the windows,
I smile as my good news spills out:
The spell broke, I tell her, a solid crack--
Twelve citizens in my world
Decided thirty four times
The monster is guilty,
The simple truth frees us to hope again for lives unburdened
By the illusion of invincible malice
Control through fear and threats
Power over weaker minds
--all taking a hit--
Ariel takes my hand as I follow her outside
Past our bench facing sunrise
And we fly as crows to the bon fire
At the center,
I land on my feet as the man
Tossing wood on the flames shifts
To a bear and envelopes me
In warmth and fur, my heart rests easy
In this refuge
Of friends and dwellings--
All four corners magical
--not mundane,
In the distance rolling thunder beckons
A refreshing spring rain.

Laurel Owen, June 2024