She looked out at the wasteland around her. Dead and dying, all was a dry, grey lifelessness of entropy. There was no rich darkness, no fertile black to rest in and hold the dream of rebirth. There was no effervescent and profuse light of life and joy to animate the land. Dispirited curls of dust spiralled in the desolate wind, clouding the perpetual half-light.

I plunge in, head-first, briny waters sluicing across my body as I dive down, the song of the deep sea coursing through my veins. Glimmers of honeyed sunlight sparkle through the surface of the water, patterns of dragonfly wing and kingfisher feather, paths of light like skeins of gold reaching down into the depths below me.

Springs bubble up from the land, overflowing with prayers of joy and new life, bursting exuberantly from the earth. Snow melts on distant mountaintops with the coming of the spring, songs of fresh icy water racing down mountain sides to reach the awakening valleys, white, yellow and purple pushing up through the dark soil of winter death to bring the prayer of spring’s kiss.