Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Dance of Stone: The Ballad of the Bull Stone
Dance of Stone
The Ballad of the Bull Stone
Son of an inland Sea, the Stone.
Son of ancient life, the Stone.
Dreaming ancestral dreams, the Stone.
Will you come? said we.
I will come, said he.
Down we brought him,
down and over;
up we brought him, up.
Here? said we.
Here, said he.
He lay. A year he lay.
Two he waited, patient:
patient as stone.
Up now? said we.
Up, said he, eager:
eager as stone.
He rose.
Swiftly, he rose.
Eagerly, he rose.
Beautifully, he rose.
He stands.
On a bull's back, he stands.
Between here and now, he stands.
Between Earth and Heaven, he stands.
Receive our offerings, say we.
I receive them, says he, and dances:
dances the dance of Stone.
Photo: Robin Grimm
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Is the stone wearing a wreath of greenery? It looks like it is to me.