The Mockingbird

It's past midnight and all the mundane world has settled to it's slumber for the night.  At the Lair, all is resting save a lone mockingbird calling its cacophony of melodies across the ebony skies.  It's chaotic song rings across the night breezes.

Tonight, one my friends passed--suddenly but somewhat expectedly--of a rapid-onset cancer.  He had just been taken into Hospice care...he and his beloved wife were looking into options to buy him quality as the end approached far too soon.  He was honored by his peers just yesterday.  He passed this evening. 

So, dear ones, may my friendly mockingbird's chant ring out over the rooftops and across the meadows and ranchlands--far into the black corners of our Lady's nightly mantle.  May it's chorus carry to the Summerlands where he is being welcomed--whole and healthy--to bask in Her hospitality.  Although he was not of the Old Paths, may She watch over his family and may the soft night breezes soothe the pain that's in so many hearts tonight at his passing.  So, SING, darling Mockingbird, SING his passing and sing our loss....but sing evermore the hope for tomorrow!

In the softness of the ever-present Moonlight...