Green Hench II
Like a tortoise asleep in a field
The Green Hench sat
Solid, rounded forever.
The way to it zigged and zagged around the
edge of fields
In fenced off walk ways
Until we reached the gate
And pavement around Maes Howe
Neolithic Orcadian
The Howe prominent on the flat
The greenest sward of grass
Succulent well fed grass
Gave no hint of what lay beneath
This softly organic form.
Entrance and passageway narrow and low
Some reluctant to enter
Claustrophobic, fear gripped, white faced,
wide eyed.
The way, a reverse birth
Re-entering the womb
Remember the way out?
A hard difficult squeeze
Clamped by muscle, gripped by bone.
Now choose to re-enter.
Not a light and easy choice
I go – to know.
Inside as dark as pitch
Filled with the huffing of the other souls
Standing still and circular as the stones
of Steness.
The only light – blocked by more entering
Until we are all assembled
And the daylight flushes down the long
entrance passageway
With the last person
Light falls in slivers of silver
Illuminating the chamber and ceiling
A beehive of rocks a cairn over our heads
Faintly lighting the alcove opposite the
door
Others are now dark negative spaces
There is a hush
I stand captivated by thoughts of
Master builders
Times past, lives past
Seasonal, planetary ceremonies
Held here
in awe of the age
The beauty
The ingenuity of this
Green hench.
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