On the eve of the new year I climbed the sacred mountain with twenty pilgrims. In silence. We circled the tors, sentinel stones, weathered, mute, belonging to no-one but their Mother Earth. The mountain gods wailed, whipped at flesh, sucked the last heat from bones and threw thoughts to the sea. I waited. The ants, far below, rolled rock. It’s time, they railed, you know you can move your own ground. I swallowed my silence. Love, abundance, non-attachment. The words fell at my feet, flew to the sky.