In the quiet of the morning, heavy with mist, rabid with scents a woman settled in the copse meditating amongst the fleeting mice and secretive rabbits, the bee and butterfly. What was she thinking of on such a humid day? Her features relaxed, a smile lingering over her lips, eyes opening and shutting ritually, the sun poking its frazzled head above the half-light, the grass heavily hung with dew. This was our goddess, still alone, still alive, a thousand years after her demise, battered by crosses and incantations, holy water and an ever-present authoritarian god searching the land for sacrifices. I watched for several hours. In that time, that uneventful time, she grew older, flesh flaking away from her opaque bones, the sun slicing through. Within hours, her presence vanished, earthbound, seeking to emerge once more within the millennium exhorting religion's timely death; with once again irrepressible love, life and joy freely restored. As darkness fell her shade morphed into a seed, sinking slowly into the soil.