Small comfort

It is so still, to speak would break the spell.
Snowdrops scattered at hedge sides. (I don't remember that.)
Trails of sky-snails smoke.
Small comfort.

Small comfort against the weight of centuries, millenia of struggle.
Small comfort against the weight of granite, pressing, squeezing borders, edging the North.
The flaming of stars in the pitch above.

These years, entering the body
Through every cell, every breath.
Every breath the breath of heroes, farmers, saints.