Northern Lights

A blue mist hangs above these shores of time,

As I walk in forests redolent of peat

And onwards to the towering mountains climb,

A voice of promise calls my homeward feet.

The arches rustle greeting as I pass,

My close companion the expectant air,

The sea a mirror made of frozen glass

A grey expanse, desolate and bare.

The days are lit with a surreal light,

One moves more slowly now with thoughtful pace

As if the soul aware that fleeing night

Shall soon reveal the mystic morning's face

And dawn arrive to burn away all dark,

The sky ablaze with spark on coloured spark.