Category Archives: Stuart France and Sue Vincent

Field-Mouse… Stuart France

* Field-Mouse was out gathering wild-beans for winter when Buffalo came down to the meadow to graze. ‘He will mow down the long-grass with his prickly tongue and there will be no where left to hide,’ thought Field-Mouse, ‘I will … Continue reading

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Into the Hill… Stuart France

* …And the Wood-Stone started to glow, White it was… * * And I felt an impetus to take flight, but only as far as the end of the passage… * Continue reading at Stuart France

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Inner Sanctum … Stuart France

* Further vindication of our unscheduled return was granted upon re-entering the chamber. The free standing stone and the facing stone, which were separated by space and shadow, were both now holding the light. The light that some say would … Continue reading

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The Hill in a Dark Grove, reprieve… Stuart France

* We had known for some time, courtesy of Rupert Soskin, that the resident stone of the inner chamber at Bryn Celli Ddu is part of a petrified tree trunk. * * And once we had our eye in it … Continue reading

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Harbinger… Stuart France

* It has been surmised that the future enters our past in order that the present may form… Sometimes it certainly feels a little like that. For one thing it has been twenty-seven months since our last sighting of a … Continue reading

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Swans…

* ‘Birds-of-the-Beyond’, Mountain-Ana called them. She bought us a book. The picture of the Lir-Clan huddled on a rock in the middle of a raging sea, slipping into Swan-Vests still remains, clear as each new day that dawns. * “They’re … Continue reading

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Stepping Stones?… Stuart France

* Three days of fog and endless trek… Suddenly the mists cleared to reveal a shrouded figure struggling with his boat. “Sprung a leak, dammit,” he said scratching within the folds of his hood. The sound of bone on bone. … Continue reading

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Isle … Stuart France

*  Standing in the waves, looking out to the west, a mysterious island appears on the horizon… * We swam and we swam O’ how we swam over the sea to the isle of Clear-Glass. * Continue reading at Stuart … Continue reading

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Son of Chaos… Stuart France

* There is a sound in my room. It should be a commentary for the visuals which play upon the walls just below the ceiling but it warbles like a wayward tape machine in my soft, pink, newly formed ears. … Continue reading

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The Prisoner… Stuart France

* Beauty dived into the bushes led by Prince then gasped as one of the thorns from the brambles traced the delicate skin of her inner arm. The blood came in spurts and rivulets. “No wait,” she cried, pausing to … Continue reading

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