The far space is closing along a band of trees, peelings of shadowy rind exposing ghostly hues. All around the air is flammable, until the setting sun a burning bush turns ashen.
Strange mood around this monolithic rock that some folks fear. Overlong we have waited presenting our sacrifices. yet not a breath of wind stirs as we chant and seeds take root.
A strange spirit leaps into our midst and all around there is a quick intake of breath. Piercing movement collapses in upon itself as it whispers though our pores. Rhythms strange insistent beat, a driving force whirls through our bloodstream, its slow sensuous movements lead us into dreams. Attached ghost, your haunting aria spins in ethereal mist transposing meditation. Someone has put a hole in our language and now as we look with hazy speculation upon the book with tiny red stitches we remain baffled, turning it round and round looking at all the foreign symbols, but it cannot be deciphered. Only the creatures of the forest remember; Mid-Summer nights, the sound of magical flutes and the bells of dancing nymphs. Only they understand the gifts that Gaia bestows. Only they remember the Wisdom Of The Faun.