The land pulls the blood from my body prematurely, just as it did two years ago when the white goddess appeared at the foot of my bed as I took the role of Guinevere. Three in the morning is an uncommon time to wake, but there is significance to this number. We are working with lines that join into triangles.
Sometimes I think I have strained limits, but my mind tells me I have not returned to the feel of the womb again to sleep. Birth is inevitable. My skin protests darkness and shuns the heavy wrap causing the release of sweat when I try to sleep. There is an alchemy of fire and water going on within and without.
I walk the Maumbury Rings after descending from Maiden Castle where I felt the stabs of its violent past covering over a land that once held magic. Yet, there is still heat to be found if you sit in silence in the place of the ancient temple. It radiates gold and feels like a powerful peace.
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