Signatures…

Stuart France

*

Back in the low slung car I stare into the gloom.

A quiet has descended with the mist.

It is the silence that preludes any portentous event.

The car lurches and veers suddenly and we bounce up a dirt track and skid to a halt at the foot of Dragon Hill.

“You didn’t mean to come this way did you?”

“This way, that way…what does it matter?”

“Who knows?”

It is my turn to look mysterious as we set off up the hillock.

The chill snags my breath as we climb and the mist swirls and eddies, clinging to our legs and arms like star stuff.

I nearly lose my balance a number of times for no apparent reason, a sure sign if one were needed that we are approaching the numinous…

*

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