So, am I the fifth stone? I wonder?
I ask the wind, will I then be the fifth stone, in this perpetual circle?
As I knit this blue thread
The grey sky moves away
And the light starts to come into this circle, that resists and remains.
So then am I the fifth stone, while I knit this blue thread that connects me to this green field?
The red kite greets me from the sky, it comes down and flies above this four-stone circle.
So, am I the fifth stone? I ask.
The wind blows the grey stormy sky away.
It lets a small trace of light come in.
This raises my spirit; breaks down my vulnerability,
Strips away my fears and brings my questions up to the skies.
Will I then be the fifth stone? I wonder, on this solemn and mellow afternoon.
The skies respond in its permanent way:
I am the fifth stone, the one that travels, transforms, and becomes a matter of everything.
So, could I be the fifth stone, I ask?
The wind replies to me, blowing the storm away.
Blowing the grey skies away.
The red kite flies above me and above these four stones circle, over
its prehistoric landscape.
That remains a witness to our own decadence
So, am I the fifth stone I wonder on this walk, this Thursday afternoon?
I am the grey that torments me, and the warmth lights that accompany me.
So, I have asked, am I the fifth stone?
I am the one that travels, transforms, and becomes today this blue thread that connects the sky, and this green, green land.