The leaves have fallen away, and dance
to the wind-song in the garden,

and through new naked trees, we see
the two great rivers in their beauty

and restless power. The driven clouds
burn like comets in our aerial ocean,

the air is alight with the cries of birds
flocking southwards like the music

once exiled from the heart, yet our hearts
erupt and here, on this wind-driven hill

we are drawn to the centre of the dance,
and we know we are helplessly singing,

seeking whatever in us we cannot stop,
the song ceaseless, leaping, our utter yes.

Euan Tait