Stagtine, 8. Earth Dancers

Section 1, Chapter 5

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Years later, I am grown up and married to Morgan, and we are back with the herd under the cold grey sky. Lionel’s blood is now frozen, like the grass. But the rest of the herd was not asleep. Their increasing interest in his death aroused us from our prayer, our hunter’s meditation, our spirit infused tellback.

Field harvesting is the rebirth of the ancient in some, true sense. Its spectral return well animated the landscape around us. A white spirit infused the February mist with a strange passion and its energy drifted upwards and we felt exposed: naked. We were at the center of life and our hair stood straight as Earth cleft in front of us.

King Lear, another bull in the herd, uttered a deep earthen hum, as though from a lost land of dark moors that quiver and bubble from below, a prehistoric bawl, and the ethereal spirits that floated amongst us instantly landed as a grounded force.

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