The morning of the final simplicity dawned with a clarity that cut through everything. All the layers of discovery and understanding and becoming and weaving and awakening and returning and promising and completing and silencing and remembering and circling and loving had fallen away. What remained was the simple truth. The truth that had been there all along. The truth that needed no words. The truth that needed no understanding. The truth that was simply what is.
Brona and Tadhg had become the love long ago. The current presence was a pair named Aine and Eamon. They were not leaders. They were not weavers. They were not presence in the old sense. They were the simple truth. They were what remained when everything else had fallen away. They were the garden stripped of all its stories.
T
