Last night, in the full dark of a moonless sky, I walked the length of the Firefly Meadow to the ancient maple down by the Hollow Brook to gather the sap from the hanging pails. Overhead the stars presented a brilliant display. I scanned the vast firmament, enamored by the incredible depths of the celestial lights, naming in my mind’s ear my favorite stars: sparkling ruby Betelgeuse, bluish Bellatrix, bright Rigel and Aldebaran, northern Polaris. Wandering Jupiter and the colorful haze of the Great Nebula of Orion. The brook sang eternal songs of long dark and winter ice and warmer days to come. Silence promised the music of spring time owls not long away. The dark was full and complete and its own truth. And in the maple pails was the Green Man’s own blood-nectar. It was a perfect moment. And there in the darkness the inevitable truth was elemental: enchantment is the very depth and texture of a marvelous reality. If the heart is open; if the mind is clear and bold; if one looks away, to the waters and the wild, such a delicate, powerful revelation cannot but be seen, and cannot but work wonders of the soul and reshape our very dreams to something better than we could know.