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"Brigid's Mantle"(From
our "Quarterly
Magazine")The woods were ghostly, dark and deep.White moths were on
the wing.The stars were walking out of time.The
Wolf Moon shone, celestial fire, bathing the garden
in light.The garden lay quiet, dormant, frozen earth,
holly berries blood red.When the garden creatures close to earth,
brushed the lower sharp- spined leaves, their skin was
torn or lacerated.For the holly
trees and holly shrubs possess hearts of glass and
minds of stone.The Goblin and
the Gremlin trod through mottled grass, gazing
at the golden stars, and huge, mesmeric Wolf
Moon.The Unicorn, skin-painted purple,
mauve and indigo, trotted through the
arboretum.Arms gripping tight around
his neck rode barebacked and sidesaddle,
the White Lady of Longnor.Terrified.A bat
dipped low
across the
garden.The
Elves and Imps
and nighttime
Pixies mingled
with the
ghosts and
spectres. The
birds of
Rhiannon
hummed a
"Spring
suite".Ianuarius,
two-faced god
of every kind
of entrance,
exit, of
beginnings and
endings and
transitions.He
resided at the
limits of
Earth, the
extremity of
heaven.He saw
the goddess
Brigid's
mantle
approaching
and swung the
garden gate
open . . . .
Deborah
Susan Jones,
Writer.
