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.

The first winter that came to this land was long, bitter and cold. Snow lay thick over the land, icicles adorned stark, bare trees and rivers froze in mid-spate. Many animals had not prepared for this deep and seemingly endless cold, and many died, hungry and frozen. Some of the animals could find no shelter and the ice leached the colour out of their fur, turning them a pure white. That is why in winter now, fox, hare and ptarmigan turn white, in memory of their ancestors in the long first winter.

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.