Thursday, November 10, 2005

Stone Circle

Alone in the circle, in touch with the night,
With old stones and cold stones by oak tree and thorn.
Soft shadows and silence - Moon magic 'till dawn,
Softly stirring shadows, tremble, slip and slide.
Shadowed ones assemble; stone man, faery, wight.
Sacred space encircled - candle burning bright.

Call the silent Watchers, knowing they will come.
Sweet scented night shade air, turning stars aflame,
Water flowing softly, calls Earth by her name.
Comes the speckled roe deer, comes the fallow buck,
Badger, fox and rabbit, squirrel from her hoard,
Waiting for the Lady, waiting for the Lord.

All at once it happens - tingles down my spine!
Shadows grow yet darker, air grows yet more thick.
Time stands still and hovers, flickering candle wick.
Out of time, out of space - the Old Ones are here!
Living, breathing, knowing - this is the feeling.
Contact is certain! Starlight is reeling!

Much later - or sooner (time has no meaning)
Our old land is wak’ning, grey light at dawning.
Soul singing and splendid, Sun lights the morning.

Peter Herring

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