Imbolc
7am: Look there.
It’s not just pinprick constellations,
and the lights of the A66.
This is the first morning I see it –
that place where ancient black meets cold fell tops.
It’s a barely-there glimmer,
a hint,
an outline I can see because I remember.
Before the coffee’s half drunk, it’s a brave blue line –
dawn undaunted.
The view changes in each blink – enchanted,
liminal, and belonging to me alone.
The new colours astonish, restoring eyes’ ease.
It’s my gift from the slow steady days:
Long night is behind you.
Light is coming.
Hold on, it won’t be long.
