Bats appearing in the moonlight to feed was the first omen
of rebirthing, and the fire, another omen of cleansing, as
if I didn’t already intuit an engulfing change was coming.
In my youth fires were a social event and now I circle back
to a time where they will be again. I’ve never had a fire alone.
We spent all winter having snow fires near the river where the
swans stop on their way back home, sounding their trumpets,
preening themselves while standing on ice. I always wondered
how their feet never froze after diving for food in the cold water.
Watching them turned into a religion. We went each Sunday
to see if they were still there and if so, we felt lucky. A creature
so sleek and poised with a funny honk deserves a kind of worship.
At times they would float down at the same pace of our walk,
ushering us to the bridge and our cedar threshold to the other side,
dreamland. We called them secret fires since by spring the snow
would melt leaving no trace of our ritual, perhaps only the
decaying offering of tea leaves. Change was coming then too,
I just wasn’t certain when or how fast it would arrive. I’m never afraid
to start my life over, but it does take inner preparation to let
the cleansing fire take your old self and birth into something new.

About the artist...

Maura McDanel is a Jill-of-all-trades: metal smith, poet, improvisor, story collector, co-founder of www.haynonnie.com. Hay Nonnie is her passion project that she started with one of her best friends in June 2016. It's a collection of true personal essays and host of funass monthly live shows.

Find her performing at iO with Duchess, CIC with Proud Parents, or on Insta @themaurathemerrier