Beltaine, sweet Beltaine.

Beltaine. The Celt New Year is upon us again, and again, it has amazed me with its beauty.

Last night, I was walking through those woods I know so well, when an old familiar scent wafted its way towards me. Lilacs, those bright heralds of spring, sweet as sugar and soft as pillows. I picked one, and that old smell carried me back, back to a place long ago.

Not college.

Not high school.

Not my childhood.

Further. Much further, when these woods were wild and untapped, when the deer ran free and only small groups of Native Americans dotted the land. One hundred years ago, no, more than that. This vision was of back when these mighty oaks were saplings, and the oaks before them stood tall and proud. No paths ran these woods, save what the deer left behind. The lake was dry, but the creek ran strong and pure, over that good sandstone that lay beneath.

A flash of what life was in those days, with simplicity and harmony with the land, this was this vision. The stars danced in their heaven, Orion and Draco doing their tortured two-step in the sky, while Casseopeia looked on in her chair. Round and around they whirled, through months, years and centuries, leading me back home.

With a blink, I slid back into myself again. Back in today's world, with a new year of possibilities awaiting, I walked strong and sure. I know not what the future holds, but with a Beltaine that beautiful, I have no fear.