Aye, and Therefore Be Merry

for Michael Newton

Pockets of time. How much history is in the length of a bell toll? Or in the place where a bell once hung? O God, I ache for the past. Sky where rafters once were. And the dancers' reel that spins, driving music ahead. Raven lands in the centre to do his stiff-legged dance. None of this have I seen, but I know it to be true.

In the bleak mid-winter I walk inside the pearl. White-grey sky above; pewter-black concrete below. It hunches me down and forces my hands lower into the pockets of my trench. Here, Herne once stepped, his hounds pushing and crowding behind him. Blackest black was the evergreen against the night sky. Whitest white was snow against a storming sky. And everywhere the hushed rustle in which the birds of Rhiannon sang. None of this have I seen, but I know it to be true.

Now a bell toll or a cascade of light can pull me apart. I feel the flame's pure pain in my chest. My crown of oak leaves will fall, and I will know a flare of warmth before my death. Then into the stone ground will I go. Softness and gentle contrast will go with me. None of this have I seen, but I know it to be true.

Why was I born to feel? I am the Summer King. I should not ache among these burnt out rafters. My greenheart should not leap when the sun makes the south-facing cathedral golden. My despair should not lift when I go to my death, knowing as I do what is born as I die. But crossed rafters and the pearl sky are reflected in a puddle of rainwater and I doubt. Aye, and therefore be merry. Rejoice and be you merry. Set sorrow aside... (something, I know there was something)... born at this tide.

Jenna Manley, 20/12/01

Next Submission
Back to Contents

It's not too late to join in! Check out the author page for instructions!

What's new? Setting THE STORY Characters Author info Editors Front page