She awoke in the dark, separated from the night sky only by a thin and permeable cloth. She could feel the stars singing out in the dark and laid wrapped up and warm in her flimsy shelter until dawn light shaded the sky. The grass was jewelled with morning dew and mist lay on the ground like an ethereal cloak.

I remember the afternoon I met her. I had wandered down to the rocky beach by the house I had moved into some months prior, in the cold and windy February. The weather was starting to warm up now, after a short and gloomy rainy season. I wasn’t brave enough to get in the water yet, it still felt chillingly cold on my feet, lapping vestiges of the winter, but as I looked out across the rippling turquoise water, I saw a woman gliding over the sparkling sea. 

She is slim and delicate-looking, a young woman shining in the beauty of her youth, she is nonetheless past her first blooming and into her self-contained strength as a woman. She still has the unfettered freedom of young womanhood, without a babe or serious lover to anchor her in the protective, but sometimes restrictive shell of a family.

In the beginning, all was dark. Rich, warm, velvet and silent. The dark was like a blanket, thick and welcoming. It was safe and infinite, welcoming and tender. However, nothing changed in the darkness, no time passed and nothing happened. It was static and endless.

I lay nestled and protected between high sumptuous bosky slopes, where honey sunshine drips through the tree branches weaving their magic, to dapple my sacred waters. I am a nexus in the winding path of this bright and sparkling river that murmurs and sings with prayers of wide skies, Atlantic winds and flowering gorse.