Fiæll means autumn in Old English. It is the time of death and waiting. A falling autum leaf will never know the spring. It will return back to the dust, waiting on a hope it does not know. The wisdom distilled by the forests was always awaiting the coming of Christ that it did not know but yearned for, with peeling red and orange leaves. In the Incarnation, Jesus fulfilled the yearnings of this beautiful annual catastophe erupting in the forest… the decaying leaves are brave and bold like the wisdom that yearns for Christ, Christ is the one who joins in this death… Christ is the one who is red with the blood of suffering, his skin peels and he is reduced to hang upon the tree with no hope. In the resurrection, this death has fed the rich blossoming of the myriads of saplings that now rise up to the stars with silvered dew.
Give me your contrite heart,
Your humbled heart,
I wish to distill it in Gold,
I wish to brand it with the Nectar of my Touch,
To cradle it until it erupts in blossoming Love.
My Mercy will be to you a stream,
Upon which a boat, though little and burdened,
Shall be filled teaming,
Spilling with rich gifts,
For the Heart of Sacrifice blesses and is blessèd.
For ever will this yearning endure,
It is a call on the wind,
It is the deepest fire.
Summoning the Autumn leaves to the earth,
For only after the Winter
Is Light and the budding of all things.
Blessed are you Lord God of all created beings!
Blessed are you King of Fire!
Holy is your presence,
Sustain me for I am all love in your presence.
“Books can heal you” the bookbinder did say
And though her words did not fully find her that day
Their truth, a Young Fawn, did leap from her lips,
Gambolling off her tongue with consonants’ skips.
For tall grass stretched to grasp and treasure these
Patters of passing vowels that came like a breeze;
Taking “the finest scalpel” of Whispers’ whistling
She “traces the contours” of Reflection’s glistening
“And with glue” seeks to collate them through
And with “time, lots of time” my dear Sapling true
You will see that in Patience all that tore
The kinder joy of Love’s pure seed restores,
So when you “sift pages” that Sorrow did cast
With more gentle fingers bind them at last
As “Beauty transforms all wry imperfection”
Such that unveilèd hearts blossom Holy affection
And did not she know that her Golden Tone sung
We can “sew these letters back”, my Heart’s special one!
“Soothe wounded verses and faltering timbre
And ancient Shadows with tenderness rescinder”
And thus did she speak with Clarity’s might
From her mouth Dancing words of most joyous light!