Moon over Alemendras

All the way along the A-5 I worry whether I’ll reach the cromlech in

time to see the full moon rise between the stones.

It’s a false fear though,

I have studied the sky -

watched a month rise between tall city towers.

They are behind me now,

shrinking

as the megaliths extend their shadows

which, as I arrive, are

long enough to indicate evening.

Crickets replace sirens.

Two figures hold the centre of the circle. One, a

woman in white, has a flame burning in cupped hands which she

offers to the horizon at the moment the moon escapes across the border of

earth and sky.

Some prayers are said.

The stones stay silent.

I had expected the ancient medicine to

loosen their tongues or at least reveal

an image carved by

an ancestor but

only the lichen on their surface makes bright patterns,

while their arrangement speaks emphatically to the moon,

making it a symbol

that can be interpreted as an allusion to something like

the cyclical nature of wholeness.