A good night under the stars at Avebury there last night.
Old friends met and a big groundsheet shared between seven.
A whisper here and there.
A wisdom well-spoken.
A warm hand reaching out to cold fingers
lost until then in a barren dream now gone away.
A clear and brimming glass of flame-thrown champagne.
A lost scotch in the dew-drenched grass of an expectant morning.
Shooting stars with signs instead of the reticent tinkling of silent ice.
And then early partings
chilled, fulfilled, quiet and sleep-surrounded.
Dew-drenched happiness wished to loved ones for another year.
Dreams meanwhile to tickle one's mind-edges and stretch one's fingertips.
Until a colder, quieter sun sifts itself amongst our ancient stones.
Silverfox
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