The storytelling weekend in Dartmoor was leavened by writing and hiking.  Most of the writing was poetry, five minutes to ten minutes maximum, to respond to some image from the most recent episode of the story that resonated with us.   

Wolf-Lit Night
 

It is the light first draws us in:
a darkness layered on darkness as we climb

the endless moor.  A desolation filling

every empty corner of the soul with joy.


The elder gods gathered here,

in moss covered trees,
and cow-blessed pasture,

in yellowed gorse bush and in shadows,

round a single burning light in the darkness.

On this, the Blood Moon Night,

Wolf Moon danced behind the clouding skies,

flirting with the restless shadows
while mystery gathered.

And we, blessed with the waters and the winds

and the songs of the elderwoods, rested;

knowing the Earth has always remembered

and is singing us home.

Fiona Mackintosh (© July 28, 2018)

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