The Prayer Trail

Twigs creaked beneath my feet as I emerged from the shady path onto the clearing. And my chronic homesickness resurfaced. Before me were twelve tree stumps, just like the ones we sat on at the Gallery during bonfire nights, circa 1975-1980.

Bonfires that were lit to unleash the creative energy of those gathered - artists, writers and poets.
When the sky was so black and life seemed so simple. Everyone was at peace. Or so it seemed. When we would sit and listen to owls hooting, crickets, tree frogs and cicadas chirping in a bewitching chorus...

...and the three figures that appeared to be retreating into the darkness, not moving forward. Sculptures carved from the trunks of trees. The sensuous woman, the man and the child.


There is a strong magic about this trail I found two miles from our house. I will return often as I write my novel.



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