Warm Tabernacle

In the Glamorganshire dark, Winter months,
field-traipsing by slight half-moon light…
a Welsh Valley Shaman and a Priestess
from the rugged coast of North Cornwall…
weave further into the shadow’s darkness.
Palm on palm warmth, they snake and glide,
clairvoyantly in step, and twisting movement.
There is still no sight of the small campfire yet,
but it’s off up to the right, you can sense it approaching.
He barks twice, quickly, after an underfoot branch-snap
EXPLODES a roost of starlings up into the sky
from a nearby gnarly old Oak Tree,
to let them know that they be ‘Friend’ not ‘Foe’.
They bank the skeletal trail at rear of the Site,
unhood a fraction of a second afore entering
the densely camouflaged, oval, clearing.
Nod greetings to the nearest Sentries, then slip through
the folds of the Celtic Knotworked canvas dwelling.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way. Read other articles by Paul, or visit Paul's website.