The raven watched out of sight in the trees above while she walked three times the perimeter. Stopping at the gateway stone, she waited for the portal to open. Access could easily be denied in these places, yet she knew she had been beckoned here for a reason. There had been others before her. Countless feet had walked the perimeter of the womb circled by stones. They had left their imprinted energy behind, sinking the earth into a moat, separating the real from the unreal. Most, mistaken by the belief that the eyes distinguish Truth.
She rested her hands on the ridge, feeling the rough layers cataloged by time, reading a braille much older than language.
One drawn out call from the raven broke down silence, and she bent to her knees and kissed the face before her.
“There is no name for what is lost.”
“For loss is an illusion.”
She nodded again.
“Speak what you read on the stone.”
It was not a language taught in classrooms that poured from her lips, but the raven understood, as did the presence before her. Slowly the stone lowered back down into the body of Earth, and as she stepped through, the circle closed around her.
My contribution to Sue Vincent’s weekly #writephoto challenge.