I have been thinking about your presence held fast to the land. Your spirit woven into time, pressing against mine in a longing to be remembered, not for yourself, but for the body you cannot leave behind. In the moors, not yet turned purple, we walked the scars to feel the blade of separation. Parting the veil where the wound never healed. How can a spirit linger for five thousand years, if not for love?
You, the keeper of memories holding the gate to the heart wide open, yet how many have walked past as you watched unseen? The rocks, pressing their heads above Her body to mark time with you, waiting to be felt. You will not leave them. Not yet. Your hands have pressed more than mine, but not enough. Eyes refusing to be opened. Hearts refusing to feel the beat below to match Her rhythm once again.
And so you walk the moors obscured by mist, traveling a broken land. You, who remember the Light to show us where the darkness seeks to be cleared.
For Bratha, who knew Earth before she was broken. And for Sue, who introduced us. To participate in Sue’s weekly #writephoto prompt, please click here.