Posted on: 31 March 2024

One December morning in Bayacas, Spain.

This December  morning
Of monochrome skies
And bone-bare branches

I watch intently
As last leaves
Into stillness

And ragged peaks
Play a slow game
Of hide and seek
In the meandering mist

Inside my small, wooden cabin
Cosseted by golden Alamos
An inner wintering begins

By the gentle crackle
Of the smouldering fire
I reach tentatively
Into the chamber
Of my heart

Untangling frosted brambles
And clearing jewelled cobwebs

Little by little
Emerging light
Enters this sacred cavern

The true radiance
Of my heart
Thaws my frozen fingers
Illuminates the path
And reminds me
of the source
Boundless, iridescent
And pure.


Sam Lacey