I’ve never been a brilliant sleeper. 3am is my Muse time. Half baked poems take centre stage begging for an ending.
Meditation, automatic writing. Channels from spirit.
That’s ok I quite like the world when it’s beautifully still. Moon light walks and star gazing at Trecastle
It amazes me how many people are too busy to just look up.
Take note of just how tiny we are.
Yet how amazing.
Last night was inky black and clear thankfully cool.
Trecastle called my little car carried me over the mountain.
I sat listening to the babble of the river over the rocks.
Ancient language crickets seemed to punctuate with the occasional chirp.
The outline of the mountain the shape of mother Earth.
The shiloette of the stone circle, energy pallpuble
There is only one tree on that beautiful Roman road. We are old friends.
She nodded her welcome in the breeze.
She is old and her dress a little tattered no longer a maiden or a mother but a wise old crone.
She holds secrets she hears the cry’s of the lost and lonley she shelters them from life’s storm.
She is bent over almost pointing the way to the stone circle that stands around 600 yards away
Unseen from the road clevely hidden .
Go she tells me bathe in the moonlight walk the circle and speak your truth.
The stones will absorb your pain. The circle will remind you how to dance.
Feel the wind on your skin the dew on your bare feet
Know that you are loved here.
For this place holds magic.
This is your home.
I smile at her a silent thanks
Cross the river and walk barefoot to my circle .
The breeze is warm
As I give thanks for all that I am.
All that I have
As I dance the spiral dance of ancient ways