I remember my first crossing to you, or was it you crossing to me? The well worn foot path through heather, around moor, green mounds with single holes, woven nets of white flowers lay across the cairns of lore. The sound of voices, faraway singing, feet tapping patterns. I drew close and then closer to the hole in the earth, chants rising to meet my longing. For a moment you were there, standing in the green, flowers at your feet. Our eyes met – for one enchanted moment we were together.
Quin de la Mer, February, 2018