Peter Andrew Jones Art Gallery


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"Brigid's Mantle"
(From our  "Quarterly Magazine")

The woods were ghostly, dark and deep.
White moths were on the wing.
The stars were walking out of time.
The Wolf Moon shone, celestial fire, bathing the garden in light.
The garden lay quiet, dormant, frozen earth, holly berries blood red.
When the garden creatures close to earth, brushed the lower sharp- spined leaves, their skin was torn or lacerated.
For the holly trees and holly shrubs possess hearts of glass and minds of stone.
The Goblin and the Gremlin trod through mottled grass, gazing at the golden stars, and huge, mesmeric Wolf Moon.
The Unicorn, skin-painted purple, mauve and indigo, trotted through the arboretum.
Arms gripping tight around his neck rode barebacked and sidesaddle, the White Lady of Longnor.
Terrified.
A bat dipped low across the garden.
The Elves and Imps and nighttime Pixies mingled with the ghosts and spectres. The birds of Rhiannon hummed a "Spring suite".
Ianuarius, two-faced god of every kind of entrance, exit, of beginnings and endings and transitions.
He resided at the limits of Earth, the extremity of heaven.
He saw the goddess Brigid's mantle approaching and swung the garden gate open . . . .
Deborah Susan Jones, Writer.


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