There is a rustle in the leaves now that they’re alive again.
That’s a pact between the wind and the threes.
‘Give me something to play with’, lively and passionate Western Wind sings.
‘It’s spring yet again and you have birthed new green l
ush leaves. They form with me another voice than my own; hollow howling on too many days where my ride through the fields found nothing but emptiness to carry and pass on to many weary souls, who did listen to me for news. . Now there’s something to dance with again. New stories to tell. Something to stir.’
The Wind and the Forest make charming play mates this time of year!
I am downhill on my bike, wind in my hair, thrilled to be here, arms up in the air, enjoying the speed the ride downhill gives me, as something makes me turn my head and hit the brakes so hard on the dusty road, I nearly fall over.
There’s something in there beneath the trees. It’s an old Stone Circle!
It’s like finding a treasure, and hoping no one else has seen it. But I am all alone in the woods.
There are 12 seats, and I see they form an ellipse. There’s a tall old tree in the middle. Its roots are old and deep, and yet some are still visible above the ground. It has a friend in a straight line in the grove a bit further down the small hill this Stone Circle is set upon. And yet another in the other direction. Also this forms a wider circle. As if the forest knew, once upon a time how to move and make conversation. With us. Today it’s only a subtle clue, highly at risk of being unnoticed. Unacknowledged. Unappreciated. Unless… It really extends a call.
I guess that someone, a very long time ago, decided it was a fitting thing to do; to put up seats and just sit down here under this tree. Maybe to tell a story. Or maybe to patiently listen and be taught.
I am quiet. The only sound is the rustling leaves above me. I settle in. Close my eyes.
And then.. Whispers. This forest comes alive again and tells its stories from another era, another time.
There’s no language for what they tell.
I see dancing women here. But I realize it’s not an image from then. It’s what’s to come. I have to bring them here. What a party we’ll have.
On my way home I notice this:
The Earth is singing, and so am I.