Winter's gate almost passed through
Sky lowers, close and flat
In darkness and stillness
A strange root emerges
From the beneathing wheel
Like a gnarled fist
Reaching skywards
It murmurs in it's strange tongue
If your roots are in the sky
Then you belong everywhere

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A root is a precious thing
For a land to give
But it was beseeched
And offerings made
It was bathed and cleansed
In the river flowing beneath it
Clear and icy-cold
Its blind winding passage
Through the dark earth
Was brought to light
Monument to unknowingness 

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In the garden, its sister roots
Snaked amongst the spiral bones
Of caramel, hazel and umber
Shining, curling like fern fronds
Like galaxies glinting all around the wheel
Relics of death gesturing
Towards eternal renewal

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And from the spiral bones
Hangs the precious wax
A secret secreted by the bees
It holds their dreams and knowings
And can hold ours too
The symbols speak the night-speech
Of root and stone
Of winter and rot
And the womb
Will you plant a seed in the darkness?
Will you dream of spring?