Winter Morning Prayer

Never lose your connection to fire and wood, it grounds you in awe of all that is good. if the coyotes call or the owl he does sing, go out to meet them whatever it brings, in the dark, in the cold, at dawn, till your old, feeling of love blends to a bold, plunge to your roots like bowmen who shoot, weaponary forged by love that is loose, wild and weaved, lidded and leafed, sharp but still sheathed, like black tea that's steeped, by women in wreaths, like bobcats that leap with time as it sweeps all tears that you weep. Knock the door of the grey, ancient and skilled, Norsemans home of focus who built, up a great temple from years in the woods, and took all who come to hunt in their hoods, down all that is broken, all that is lost, great fires they burned in winters of frost, and here you are breathing, glowing with gifts, use them with honor and may you be swift.