So, am I the fifth Stone? I wonder?
I ask the wind; then will I be the fifth Stone in this perpetual circle?
As I knit this blue thread
The grey sky moves away
And the light starts to enter 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 enter.
This raises my spirit, breaks down my vulnerability,
Strips away my fears and takes my questions up to the skies.
Will I be the fifth stone then? I wonder on this solemn and mellow afternoon.
The sky responds 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 this four-stone 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.