Historical setting: 589 C.E. when Brittany was forest
As I hang my bow with the others the first breeze of early spring turns the winter drear to mist; so now behind us in the eastern sky is the great bow across the heavens. First it seems a vision, with pale, surreal shades of tender color. But the thief sees it too so I know it is a thing of earth. It is both mystical and tangible. The rainbow marks a place where the things of earth cross over into the untouchable mystical. Thank you God.
I’m driven to song – and there are so many ways to sing of the rainbows.
The thief never joined in singing, even in the chorus; he only scowled at me.
My defense, “I thought that song just needed to be sung.”
“That’s the trouble with you, you’re always just singing out loud. It’s very odd.”
“It wouldn’t be odd if two of us were singing. Singing is a privilege of shared wonder. It’s very ancient.”
We walk on in silence toward the village.
[Footnote] This lyric is offered here with the writer’s permission. Happy Birthday, today, Mariah.
(Continues Tuesday, February 15, 2022)