Sunday, June 29, 2008

A Holly’s brief Embrace

Saturday June 28, 2008:

WE HAD WANDERED SLOWLY THROUGH THE PARK, GREETING TREES AS WE PASSED, EXPLORING QUIET CORNERS, WEAVING IN AND OUT OF THE PUBLIC AT PLAY. We had filled the Motherstone bowl with water and appreciated the stones. My companion wanted to show me the old gnarled holly tree standing next to the Motherstone.

Bending, I climbed under the swinging prickly branches. Inside, the holly trunk, forked into two great columns, the arching branches overhung and in places almost touched the ground. Inside, we were in a green and gold secluded cave.

I sat down at the base of the tree and lent against its firm trunk. The ground beneath my bum was dry, scattered with holly leaves and flat. I closed my eyes and breathed in the quiet stillness.

Behind my eyes, a fire danced. It cracked and popped, its heat warming my face. A dark figure moved behind my eyelids, jagged and dark, horned and tall. I bent my head in acknowledgement and he was gone.

On the other side of the tree, my companion hummed softly. Beyond her, a soft drumming danced towards us on the breeze. I pondered what it would be like to sleep here, so close to theMotherstone, cocooned in this sharp, brittle fiery old holly tree with its many twisted tendrils falling down to the ground like a dark green spiky cave. But this was a Public Park, with locked gates and patrols – and it was not yet holly time and I would come back, soon.

Emerging into the evening light, the drums beating in the distance sounded indistinct. Time to go.

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