Me and Grizzly run. We run through the sky that turned to night – bright night sky filled with sparkly stars that shine like pin pricks.
It’s really cold. I find I’m wearing fur – wolf maybe. Boots made of leather and fur with straps that tie them onto my legs.
I bury myself down in Grizzly’s fur and almost feel like I could sleep. I can see my breath in the air as he runs and runs. Up. We’re headed up not down. He’s running on the gusts of Winter.
Then we come to a place that’s floating in the air. A vast, desert-like place, snow instead of sand. It’s almost bleak but filled with an invisible life. The edge of it falls off into space. A huge white pyramid rises up silently in the near distance. Just outside of it there’s a fire. It burns but it’s not warm.
I’m afraid in this journey. I feel fear. There’s a dark doorway into the pyramid. I go in but it doesn’t lead anywhere. I feel frustrated.
En Cailleach is there – she’s tall – a giantess with black hair, an apron, boots and brandishing a wooden spoon. I give her a tiny pint glass of whisky and ask my question:
“Please show me the state of my heart”.
a tiny cage inside a heart muscle
an ice fortress melting
myself on the journey up here – wrapped in furs against the cold, wearing woollen textiles and patterns, “like your ancestors did”, she says.
I look up and see the Northern lights in the sky
a tiny white winter bird, speckled brown and black, hops in the snow
I haven’t been practicing
why have you not been to see me sooner?
the journey is difficult – to see anything
I am doubtful it’s real, as usual
Why have you not been practicing?
It’s all here for you, if you come.
Featured art: The Hag of the Mill by Jane Brideson