The Singer's Dance

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The leaves have fallen away, and dance

to the wind-song in the garden,

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and through new naked trees, we see

the two great rivers in their beauty

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and restless power.  The driven clouds

burn like comets in our aerial ocean,

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the air is alight with the cries of birds

flocking southwards like the music

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once exiled from the heart, yet our hearts

erupt and here, on this wind-driven hill

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we are drawn to the centre of the dance,

and we know we are helplessly singing,

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seeking whatever in us we cannot stop,

the song ceaseless, leaping, our utter yes.

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Euan Tait