Druid

Gath'ring now in dimming light
Round vibrant blaze, a heavy daze
Grows thicker with oncoming night

Faces blurred by ashen smoke
All in a trance with crossed-arm stance
Offer up the sacrificial oak

In ancient song their voices rise
Through the trees, on whisp'ring breeze
The forest muffles their primal cries

A sudden hush as one steps forth
Wave of hand, no more they stand
But sit as the elder gestures north

Through moonlit clouds his tales unfold
Of stars and sky and times gone by
His enraptured audience forgetting the cold

The breeze, nay, wind, now growing loud
A sudden flash, a deaf'ning crash
The thunder shakes the gathered crowd

A beat not lost in the gath'ring storm
The elder's eyes glint like steel against flint
Fire, moonlight, and shadow distorting his form

Words filling beds of dry rivers of thought
Unmasking their fears, he brings them to tears
In nets of pure image their minds have been caught

But now the rain begins to fall
All on their feet, they now retreat
The elder trails, alone and tall

Into the shadows they disperse
Through days of yore and tales of lore
'Cross deepest mem'ries they traverse

If to the woods at night you bring
An open ear, you may yet hear
The echoes of their voices ring

Based on actual feelings

Campfire night. The air intoxicates. What draws us and tempts us to stay longer, a little longer? Is it nostalgia? An ancient feeling. Ancient air. Ancient flame.

Sehnsucht.

It is here in the wind, the colours on the water, the frogs, the embers sparking, swirling, flying higher and higher in an eternal circle up to heaven itself, incense to God. Our spirits dance up with them, soaring, releasing us from the world into reality.

Check the time, time to go.

Please, please, please don't go.