A moment of wild magic in the twilight world of birdsong.

Too long She has been tangled in the bones of the house. Now She is reading The Wild Places and so this morning She rose early and headed out to walk to the top of the hill to watch the world come to light. Past Glyn's house, still sleeping in the early morning, through the farmyard where I, Elmo, called to Her to wait, wait, and ran on fast feet to catch.

In the green lane the night was held, darkness caught between the leaves. Already moths had stilled their night time dance and the birds had begun to sing the sun to rising. Across the valley the sea was an ink dark line biting into the land and the city lights burned.

We walked through the birdsong and the sea began to lighten to pewter gray, the sky to blush, sea reflecting sky reflecting sea in a circle of dancing light. Through it all I shone bright, ginger flame in the twilight world.

Coming down from the hill islands of wren song, so loud a voice for so small a bird, and in the distance the magical island of Ramsey where for a while cats ruled and feasted on wild rabbit and seabirds, undisturbed by man.

A moment of wild magic. Bliss.