I am in Daylesford. It is The Solstice. It is winter here, the opposite of the solstice I'd be celebrating at home. It is all cockeyed here. The trees are gaunt and gray. The air is heavy with eucalyptus. I'd only experienced that in candies before.
And I've lost sight of my new friends, the witches of the southern triangle, and all their friends who've traveled to this hillside especially for The Solstice.
I've lost them in the dark of the fog and the cloud.
As I stand on the hilltop I can hear their voices and chanting but sound seems so directionless in fog.
Then as if in a vision, a line of sight clears through the fog and down in the distance I can see the upper half of a woman, naked as far as I can see, but for long dark hair hanging to her waist. She is part of the ceremony. She is standing before a stone cross raising her arms. As she does so the clouds part and moonlight bathes the fog bank below and the patches of grass visible.
This is a revelation from Odin.
He leads me to The Cross.
The chanting stops. They will commence the orgy around a tall tree now. As if in a pot of glue I begin to walk toward the woman and The Cross, who both disappear in a swirl of fog.
Never to be found. Well by me at least. Not that day. I walk through that tight damp fog to where I am sure they were. Fog so thick I cannot see three feet in front of me as I circle and circle until dawn. Seeing nothing. Hearing nothing. Knowing I had seen The Cross.
© Copyright 1999 Odin's Stilettos