UNLEAVENED Looking back at you standing there, wind swept on an edge of grey northern moor you were just one step away from what you wanted, Tir na nog through a bank of mist, the voice calling you there all right but indistinct, the half perceived angel flitting in the grey wind curl of a northern sky always present always opening …
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to David Whyte to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.