Spirits in the Mist

 

Magical places truly exist, for I have seen them.
  

My children and I had explored forests in Ireland where ancient trees reached must have been a thousand feet up to the sky.   Rain fell as mists through thick branches upon uplifted faces and open mouths, children catching raindrops.  Fallen leaves renewed the earth beneath, turning into damp forest floors, churned about by my children's feet. 

Scents from long ago filtered up and around trees as if from between the worlds.

Light dappled through breaks where branches opened then closed, then it danced to another hidden patch of ground.  Light then dark.  Dark then light.  My children chased to hop on light circles as each appeared, "Mine!..No, mine!..."

Johnny discovered a flat stone table resting on three ragged granite stones.  He claimed this table with its stones and laid leaves and sticks upon it.  Mary and Erin danced around and around it, laughing and singing. Tossing leaves up into fresh air, they sang the Happy Birthday and Alphabet Songs.

As for me, a flat stone table had been kept steady with three jagged stone table legs hidden within ancient trees in a cleared round space, held bygone and mystic secrets. 

 

People whose feet pressed into the ground have faded away, leaving only stones from which blood had poured from a still body.  Hidden words through long dead lips whispered and swayed through the branches, and then disappeared in the mist.

 

Ocean Born Mary

 

My children raced away down an old path, calling each other names.  Me?

I wrapped my wool jacket close to my body, shivering and cold.  I did not race away, but I hurried with eyes on my feet, not turning my head to see the stones or hazy shapes manifest and then merge with shadows.