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The blood red sun silently sank below the ripened corn, splashing the world with its life giving drips of scarlet hues.
Yet no sound of bird, beast, nor man echoed across the earth plains that night.
Only the half discernable sound of distant, rolling thunder, heralding a latent memory of something that had lain long forgotten.
The last rays of summer slowly bled upon the land and the land drank thirstily.
Yet somewhere deep, deep below the golden surface, way below the ripened corn an old force was awakening, drip fed by the ruby red droplets of light.
An old energy was returning; an old dream lost from memory was once again being dreamt.
The final powerful rays of sunlight cast it’s glow across the nectar laden fields; unwittingly heralding a quickening.
From the waters of creation; from the abyss of human memory, an old soul was returning.
Returning for what had always been.
It had always been a life for a life.
In the distance now the faint sound of drumming
And as the twilight cast a timely cloak upon the land; the truths silently slipped within the shadows.

Only now the serpent stretched.

The sound of the drumming became closer as lines of destiny started to converge.
From the musky perfumed fields of amber old John Barleycorn lay ready with heightened anticipation.
Closer they came; the revellers; the worshippers; the devotees of the old gods with their wilted offerings and handed down drum song.

Only now the serpent deliberately uncoiled.

A sudden clap of thunder; a slight tremor underfoot; but caught in the moment, hypnotised by the drumbeat they just kept coming;
‘Rise up! Rise up! Rise up! Rise up!’ their drums proclaimed yet they understood little.

Only now the serpent took the first welcomed breath of centuries.

The lines of fate and destiny started to beat within the land like throbbing arteries set to burst.

From his safe distance old John Barleycorn knew that tonight his destiny would take a different route.
The dancing, cheering, drumming party wove its merry way towards the ancient grove, scattering garlands in its path.

Silently in that ancient grove the dragon lines of destiny crossed upon the fateful shores of time.

Only now an ancient eye opened.
Only now an ancient heart beat.
Only now an ancient hunger returned; unsated.

The Guardian awoke.

Innocently they entered the grove, strewing their offerings upon the deadly land, banging their drums, paying homage to the old ones.
Dancing, laughing, twirling, merry.
Drumming, dancing, singing, chanting….

Only now in the indiscernible shadow of the grove a slight rustle in the dried grass caused them to pause…..

A warm breath of pungent air where before there was nothing….

In the silent world of men the distance screech of an old owl acknowledged the sacrifice and a bent silhouette of an unknown figure made its way back across the ripened corn.

Lughnassadh 2010