.
A chain of lights
lead off into the distance,
illuminating little
but so bright in their own world.
Along an old animal track
to a standing stone
ancient in peaceful repose,
a family sigil,
weather worn by time,
proud of its place
marking the passing of aeons.
The light blinks out
and darkness falls like a drape
of lightlessness,
and the Crest crackles,
miniature lightning
caressing the old frigid stone.
Waiting.


© Pagan Paul (16/06/19)