Fanfare

A day bewildered
Embracing summer’s passion
Beneath stormy skies
At my feet the heather blooms
The heavens answer my tears

There is a point on my journey when, at just the right time of year, there is a first glimpse of purple hope. From this distance, it is no more than a shadow bruising the green of the high moors, as if the earth has lain sleepless in anticipation of the birth of beauty.

I look, but with little hope. It is not yet that time of year…not quite. Another month before the land wears royal robes. And yet… already it begins. Tight-furled buds are her heralds. Here and there a louder note in the jewelled fanfare. Beauty does not magically appear; in constant evolution, it grows from the heart.