The sacred dance of the fields

She was old now, bent and heart-bruised. It took her longer to dance the fields.

As a girl only her village danced by the light of the moon. But the slowing of age had made her aware of the others.

Some danced. Some stood or sat in meditation as the monks at the monastery. Some walked with paddles and strings beside her, unaware.

These others were like the morning mist, gossamer shapes so differently clothed as if each came from their own time and place, as if gathered together by the dance of the fields – and the pattern of the steps.

The pattern always returned to the spiral, to the memory with which she was born but could not grasp like a butterfly just out of reach.

She danced to capture the butterfly.

First published in RedBubble and in answer to the question, "What is a crop circle?"