Hearing The Birds of Rhiannon on a Stony Beach

Hold the stone tight in your hand
Hear it sing, the singing stone
Hear her birds singing sweetly
In the high notes; in the low notes
Croaking, cawing. Modulations
High to low :

The stone is hot
The stone is cold
The stone …..

It has a life of its own, leaves your hand
When you have heard what you will hear
Then only questions:

Where is the stone now?
Why does the song fade
Where does the horse ride over the sea?

This now all there is to hear:
Hoofbeats on the waves of the sea,
Gulls calling, gulls calling
No more sweet sounds, no more harsh sounds
Woven together by her birds
But the gulls still calling, still calling
Far out over the empty sea.

So the vision fades, the music segues
To silence, to an echo in the mind,
On the wind, caught in the sound of the waves.

Yet still there’s a presence, sensed by my side,
With me always, never absent, a witness
To visions, singing birds, passing horses
That come and go between the worlds.

She never leaves me, my constant companion.