Gentle, Angry Women
When I got back to the farm last night there appeared to be a large triangular black figure with two points of burning flame on its head in the stone circle, and someone running from stone to stone. It was late. It had been a long day. I thought, do I go up and see what’s what? And then I thought, no, to hell with it. Leave them. I’ve been the keeper of these stones for almost thirty years. You name it, I’ve seen it dancing among them. There comes a moment when the strength and power of themselves has to be enough. Whoever those witchy Wiccan druid warlock sunset whirling summer pagans were…
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