Beltane Morning at Dode

As the sun lifts over the hill,

the silence of Dode gathers around us,

not an emptiness,

but a listening.

Here, where the world once folded in on itself

and a village slipped into memory,

we return again,

as if answering a call we half‑remembered.

Beneath this earth,

within the holly barrow,

our ancestors keep their long vigil.

Not watching, but accompanying

a presence felt the way one feels a path beneath the feet

before seeing where it leads.

The grass still carries the last silver of night,

Beltane’s dew, bright as breath on the edge of creation,

reminding us that renewal begins softly.

May this morning clear what has grown heavy,

and soften whatever in us has forgotten how to bloom.

As the sun moves across these stones,

may we return to ourselves

as surely as we have returned to this place

with gentleness,

with wonder,

and with the deep knowing

that nothing truly lost

fails to find its way home.

And may this day, bright and growing,

invite us to step into the season ahead

with hands unburdened,

with hearts awake,

and with the quiet courage

that comes from standing in a place

that remembers us.