on a corner that is not a corner
outside a house that is not a house,
in a grove that is not a grove
I stand.
I am within a circle
that is not a circle;
between worlds
and between times.
It is just past midnight
and the moon is not yet full
I am but the toss of a stone
away from my home,
yet I might as well be
atop a Tor in ancient Briton
I have walked to this Place –
a slow, silent walk, alone with
my thoughts and my Gods.
As I walked, time melted away;
space shifted and changed.
No longer am I surrounded by
squat palms and leafy ficus;
rather, the trees have grown
to oak and willow
Around and around from
where I began I have come to this:
in the center of a great spiral,
I sit and drink deep the air
that no longer tastes of desert,
but reminds of a long-ago summer
Beltane has passed; the Goddess
has met Her Consort.
All that remains is an echo
of that night’s rapturous screams
This night, I wrap my arms about
my knees and lean back to
gaze upon the stars
The stars are a link between the times.
From this place upon the mystical Tor
I sense my present-self upon the
desert stones and know
that it is time to return
Standing once more, I begin
the descent from hillock to valley,
from dreamtime to realtime
Around and around I walk,
taking care not to step upon a line
The path between the times
is narrow and I do not want to
traverse where I should not go.
The cool Brithonic summer breeze
shifts to warm and shifts again to
desert summer heat
At the end of the path I turn
to gaze upon the way I have come.
This small labyrinth is once again
but a simple spiral carved into my yard
It is a Mystery that it should have
so recently been a passage
between the worlds.
©2007 as prose
Poetic Revision © 12 May 2010
By Suzy Jacobson
