Islands of Joy

sunrise at the Ring of Brodgar

Slip into stillness

Beside a tall stone

Bristled and bearded with lichen

Listen to the voices that 

Whisper along the wind,

Through the grass,

Out of the old stone itself

Saying,

Ring of Brodgar

Power of the raven,
Power of the rain on the hills,
Power of the wind over the moor,
Power of the hare in the grass be thine.

Grace of the clover,
Grace of the geese in the loch,
Grace of the gunmetal grey clouds,
Grace of the white clouds that catch the light
Be thine

Stillness of the wave on the shore,
Stillness of stone in the Ring,
Stillness of sunrise behind the hills,
Stillness of long sleep in the hollow hills
Be thine

Strength of the gull’s freedom
Strength of the bull’s endurance,
Strength of the rooks’ gathering
Strength of the crab’s stealth, be thine

May no day be grievous to thee,
May each day be joyous to thee,
May love of each face be thine
May death on pillow be thine,
Honour and compassion.

Turn again into the wind and the rain

And walk dancing to the century that waits with the car park

(The Blessing form is old, coming from Gaelic prayers recorded by Alexander Carmichael. It may not be Orcadian but those are the words that came spinning out of wind, stone and the watchful hare in the field!)