History repeating itself?
Was it was the same black cloud
That blew over the pale white glow of our moon
That windy night……??
Or the same black silhouette of this very tree
Against the starless night….
Which they looked up and saw,
(when endings were upon them and before they knew what the future held)
As the dragon died.
It was certainly the same castle…ruins now…
Intact, busy, occupied and bloodied with battle then….
It was without a shadow of a doubt
This very same hill and green land….
Where our feet stand today.
Then, in our story, their wooden and leather clogs and sandals
And soldier boots stood, walked, ran, to check….
As voices announced in triumph or cried in shame ….
‘The last dragon is gone…..the last dragon is gone’
Eyes watched the red of the blood in the snaking gwiber river…encircling them ….us…now..
Its waters still calling us home….whispering…
‘And one day it will return..when it is calm enough and safe enough and the people love enough…’
Our own voices respond , here, now.
With our eyes upon the red embers of the funeral pyre
(when endings are upon us and before we know what the future holds)
‘We have to make a new beginning somewhere……
And this is where and now is when’
And so we meet you in time and place
Dragons and soldiers…at a market fayre
(and children and mothers and fathers and teachers and vicars and doctors and midwives and shopkeepers and poets and storytellers and jugglers and drummers and actors and dancers and butchers and mayors and fruitsellers and fireeaters and rich and poor)
as you were then…just as we are now….
Same cloud, moon, tree, castle, hill and river and green green land…
Past and present for this one magical glorious amazing moment past and present… our heritage…
Comes together
To recreate our future
Now.
In the beginning there was a giant white egg
And in the centre
In the very, very centre
Curled up asleep
(We hope…)
Is a sleeping baby dragon…..
The story begins anew ……