Our Pagan Place

We wake up with the wildlife,

jackdaws diving through

another day in the country 

of old gods,

where the black ivy chases the 

winter light

and the forest holds its frost 

all day, 

from cold night to sunrise

and back again.

All blue ice

a thin place

where the pheasants 

call like dryads 

crashing through the 

tree cover

and the branches kiss

with a clattering 

in the hawk-lifting wind.