She sat, cross legged

At the edge of the field

Staring past the treeline

Into the deep, dark of the forest.

She waited,

A picture of calm,

But her pulse quickened

And the beating of her heart

Throbbed with the rhythm

Of a reckless dance around a fire,

Where spirits run heavy

And feet run light.

She waited,

Knowing that something in that darkness

Was looking back

But no face emerged,

No voice rose from the stillness,

From the haze of the twilight.

Not even her own.

She stood slowly

And turned abruptly

And walked back home, alone.