The Center Stone

North wind wanders along the overgrown trail, where barren branches reach outward and skyward and sway along with wind's song. Leaves rustle softly against one another as the wind sweeps them gently along the ground, spreading the colorful quilt the trees have grown to cover their roots during the cold season. The colors have faded now; among the remaining reds and golds lie many shades of brown. The leaves have settled on the soil to continue their cycle -- to become earth once again. The sweet smell of autumn still lingers on the air. Shadows stretch on the forest floor. The woods are at rest.

Wind whirls around the crowded trunks of young trees that have taken advantage of the sunlight on the old trail. They have left only a narrow path where once there was a wider walkway, and while it is mainly travelled by deer now, the memory of careful human footsteps is forever present. The wind turns and twirls off trail to visit the young trees' elders, where they stand great and wide where they have lived and grown together for many generations. Memories of long ago echo on boldly among their gnarled bodies, and they freely share their ancient stories with the forest and with the wind as it continues on its journey. Wind carries these stories onward, empowering the mystery within this timeless wild cathedral.

As the wind travels on, there's excitement on its breath, and all beings of the forest reflect upon the feeling as it flows. It is the excitement of change -- the change of the season, the change of the forest, and the change of life. And there is something else; the wind seems to hold secrets, and it whispers them all through the woods as the sun sinks slowly out of sight. A chill shivers among the trees. The autumn air is suddenly overcome with the scent of snow; the time of rest has arrived.

She had followed the wind when it came from the north. Watching. Searching. Listening. Now, as the sky darkens, she glides silently along above the trees, finding and following that familiar valley in the treetops -- that place where the growth is younger and shorter and weaves like a serpent through the elder forest; she weaves along with it, feeling the excitement of the wind beneath her wings and through her feathers. Stories of another time touch her mind, joining the stories of now. She feels them; she knows them. She is nearly there.

She floats gracefully downward, a phantom in the night with feathers of white, and lands flawlessly on the dead standing trunk of a grandfather pine. Without a whisper, she listens. The quiet tapping of snowflakes is everywhere, the wind is whistling in the distance, and tiny feet are pattering on through the leaves. She swoops down for her meal...

Behind her, the round moon is rising, shining through a thin veil of clouds. The moon's gift of light filters through limbs and branches and brings a bright glow to the fresh falling snow as it swirls with the wind and comes to rest on the gentle Earth, the sleeping trees, and the waking stones.

The stones come into view with the moonlight and form a ring around the old clearing which Nature has reclaimed. White fluff sparkles where it falls upon great, flat-topped rocks. The circle shines brilliantly in the night, bringing a light to the surrounding area that seems unnatural at this late hour. An ancient magic emanates from stone bodies that hold memory older than the eldest of the trees that tower round the clearing. Without warning, the wind succumbs. All becomes silent. Fluffy flakes float down without a sound. At the center of the stone circle, among tall dry grasses and bushes, a lone and massive boulder rises high above the others.

Just outside the circle, the owl stands on an old oak's branch, the rough bark alive beneath her feet, the soft vole dead within her beak. As she swallows her meal, a sound breaks through the silence; just as the wind has, she too becomes motionless, fading into the forest. Listening. Waiting. Watching. The snow stops falling, and hangs suspended in midair; stars hover above the ground.

Eyes wide, she watches as a boy bursts from the brush and collapses in the clearing in the snow. He lies there a long while, and light dances upon him within the circle of stones. She can hear his heartbeat pounding and his breaths come quick and heavy; he has run far. The owl drops downward and enters the circle, finding her place upon the center stone. Her feathers glow in the dancing light. Her talons hold a thick vine that has crawled up the boulder that is not a boulder... A discreet doorway peers from the grass at its base. The owl watches the boy and protects this place.

"Breathe."

The boy sits, shivering and glancing around, snow stars sparkling all about him. He slowly rises to his feet, his mouth open in wonder as his hands reach out cautiously to touch the snow. Frost melts on fingertips; magic flows into his body. The dancing light, seeming to radiate from the stones themselves, continues to play within the circle. His breathing slows as he is drawn from fear and into the experience of the present moment. His arms spread wide like wings. He turns slowly in a circle, feeling the energy around him.

"Listen."

He looks upward now, searching for the source of the voice. The night is oddly silent. There's not a whisper of the wind, nor the scratch of a leaf, nor the call of an owl... But something is speaking to him from that silence. He listens deeply... and he hears. He hears his teeth chattering in the cold. He hears his breathing. He hears his own heartbeat as it drums on within him. And he hears the woman's voice as if it is coming from a dream, or from another time:

"Feel."

And he does. He feels the drumming of his heart throughout his body. He feels the warmth of the fire within his chest. He feels the mystery of the Earth all around him, and connection to Earth in his flesh. He feels water and wind flowing through him, spreading love through his lungs and his veins. He feels the light that flickers on his face, and he feels a strong connection to this place.

"Watch."

The owl spreads her wings wide. The boy now notices her ghostly presence as she stands tall above the great stone, and his eyes gaze upon her intently. She leans forward on long legs, bringing her head down low and letting it sway gently from one side to the other. She is pale as the snowflakes that still float between them. Her chest is lightly speckled with brown, and a bold brown heart frames her face. She lets out a wild, piercing screech as she leaps into the air. Her dark eyes stare directly at the boy and she drops straight toward him before lifting back up and spiraling skyward in slow circles. He stares at the sky. A breeze begins; the stars fly.

"Remember."

As a wind winds around the boy, whispering voices race with it. He cannot catch the words, but he can feel the wisdom that they share, and he knows their melody holds secrets long unheard by human ears. He gazes upward into the snowfall, wondering where the owl has gone. Tall trees, some bearing needles and some bare, form a dark circle that stretches longingly toward the moon. The wind runs around the trees, around the stones, and around the boy. The whispers at once come from everywhere and nowhere, and he feels the presence of ancestors around him and within him. They gift him a deep peace that thoroughly embraces his being, and the wind calms in compliment to their gift. The owl is back in sight. She glides easily back toward the ground. Her wings bring her down softly in front of the boy, and she steps onto Earth with bare human feet.

The boy looks up into the warmth of a woman's eyes. She stands in front of him where the owl had been only moments before, with a pale feathered blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She smiles at him, and wrinkles form rivers upon her face. There is a deep love and knowing kindness within her glowing eyes, yet her skin seems transparent and unreal, and the boy comes to understand that she is only here in spirit. She holds up her hand in greeting, and as the boy begins to reach out, the owl woman turns slowly and approaches the giant stone at the center of the clearing. The boy watches as she kneels and crawls into a hidden hollow at the bottom of the stone. He is drawn toward the secrets that surround her, and finds that he must follow, for his feet already have begun on their path and he cannot stop them. He nears the stone, and soon realizes it is not a stone. He places his hand upon the clay-covered dome, and he knows it is the shelter that he needs for this night. He lowers himself into the tall grasses, down to Earth, and he enters.

"Remember."

Remember where you come from, child; remember who you are:

Your body's of the Earth and your spirit's of the stars.

Fire lives within your heart, and water in your veins;

Feel your breath fly with the wind, your tears fall with the rains.