“I awaken, as if on wings of birdsong…”

“I awaken, as if on wings of birdsong, from dreams woven upon singing waters.

It’s dawn, and the sun’s early light is slowly filling the jungly woods.

The music of the morning pours bright and clear through my open door from the woodland clearing in which my little hut sits.

The dawn chorus of the birds, the lively burbling of the mossy stream just outside, and the gentle breeze playing through the leaves of the trees all co-mingle into a harmony of soothing sound, massaging my body-mind into wakefulness.

I love waking up here.

There’s simply nowhere I’d rather be.

I still can’t quite believe this is my home.

Rising, stepping outside, I pad naked to the small fall in the stream and splash my face and body with its tumbling silver-black water, gasping slightly with the cold.

It’s early summer, but the stream never truly warms up.

Taking the stone goblet from its place beside the fall and filling it to the brim, I give thanks before slowly drinking down the cold, clear, living water.

I drink in small sips, holding each one in my mouth to warm it before swallowing, otherwise it chills the stomach, bringing lethargy.

This way it cools only the head, bringing clarity.

Fire in the belly, moonlight in the mind, honey in the heart: an old bardic saying—wisdom distilled.

I crouch there with a sense of awe, watching as the daylight strengthens, listening to the music of the woods, my cold skin tingling, my heart glowing.

The soft aura of the sun crests the horizon—radiant, prescient, serene.

As the golden orb itself rises visible between the tree-trunks, a wordless song rises to my lips, joining with the symphony all around.

It’s a song of wonder, a song of joy, a song inseparable from this miracle of morning light.

Pierced by a gratitude as sharp as grief, at once humbled and ennobled by the vast beauty of earth and sky, tears fill my eyes and overspill, falling into the dancing stream, carried on towards the sea…”