I expected fireworks. But the center of the circle was silent. Even if the modern landscapes intersected, a clock face of stones surrounded me.
A few smears of juice stained the closest rock. Spiderwebs ran down another, catching the sun as it passed between the clouds. But nothing else. If anything watched, then it chose not to come any closer.
I had time to think.
I was so happy when Archie got the TV job. A weird gig for sure, but presenting at age 21 was unbelievable. And this was when TV still meant something.
The format was late night post pub viewing. Offensive humour with the volume turned up. I tried to watch, but never got past the first few episodes. Archie said that was for the best. That he took part for the money and the opportunity.
It was his idea to get me on the show. He had gotten more persuasive at that point. Grumpy. Maybe a fleck of powder dusted his nose.
Even thinking about that night makes the front of my brain cook.
The stones linked up in my mind. Like they joined together. I thought of tasty fruit. Of anger pure and distilled. If anything crossed into the circle, I knew I could deal with it. Even if the exact magic words evaded me. Maybe they existed on a scrap of parchment a thousand years old.
And that moon sat in the sky once again, impossibly enormous.
A nice spot for a walk. You do not have to be a spiritual person to visit. A good place to bring your son.
Calm him dow
::The structure of my book is falling apart under my pen Barbara. Did I even mention walking in this last chapter?
The most important thing is getting everything down I suppose. As you always say, you need the materials to work with, if you are going to build a house.
And pouring this stuff out seems important. Like it will be relevant in the end.
What if my plan fails? What will happen to the book then?
Maybe in that case no one visiting is a good result
Do you think the shadow in the trees is anything to worry about?.::
