A dream of the sacred
Walking the long, winding dirt road to our home. The road is flanked by pine, birch, fern, occasioned by bold jack-in-the-pulpit and fire-red newts.
Underfoot, stones roll and skitter.
Each stone, solid, whole, each, an open eye, feigning sleep. Holding secret its very center.
Powerful in its simplicity. One stark picture frame. Like a billboard in an endless landscape, it comes between two other dreams.
It is the cross section of a stone. Thin skinned and ordinary on the outside. Obsidian black inside, with a cube of transparent crystal rising in the center.
Once a dream.
Now a talisman.