Of What Moment To Be Seen?

Sleeping in the tent tonight. I am awakened by the barred owl who speaks the language of the night and bridges the worlds of the invisible and visible. Calling me out, the earth is damp with dew, the air fresh with spring newness, the waters of my heart pound and I am awakened to the rhythm of life around me. The owl swoops by, dark eyes impenetrable, talons embedded, drawing me out to see his prey

Above me, the moon is almost full. The mists of night…Na ceocháin na hoíche…calls out…the land between lands…An talamh idir tailte…the lineage of the lives before and after whisper: I am now. The maple canopy stoops it’s newly budding branch to kiss my face.

Of what moment do I capture to answer my life and longing to know, to belong, to see and be seen? Of what moment do I breathe to contain all my life? All of me?