Kathleen and Chrisween

Saturday, March 26, 2011


The friar heel stone


Kathleen Chrisween

            I be breaking me vow o’ silence. I be the Friar Stone, the scribe, the sentinel of the Stonehenge, and the guardian of Hehewuti’s womb, the wee friar heel of Stonehenge.
            The day be coming when Kathleen and Chrisween will meet as they began. Hehewuti mother of Joro, wife of Thor, will wake. Kathleen, priestess Queen, and Chrisween, she wolf will cross the threshold of the arbor and enter Valhalla. You know not of this, so I’ll be telling you.

Avon of lomond
It all began back then Avon; a young lad of Ben Lomond was bringing shags of wool to the fair of Salisbury.  He be a wee beard of twenty three, best of long red locks, and shoulders to fill an oxen’s yoke. He be plaid of black and white his tam black as coal, and, from his baldric hung a highlander’s broad saber. He be a fine Knight of the Lomond Heights.

 my pretty Kathleen she came to the stone dressed in the head and cape of the stag hind; the horns bleach white as new moon’s polish her robe of purest white. She, be seventeen the new high priestess, virgin queen, adorned with mistletoe and oak. Six day past the minter moon, for Alban Arthan the winter equinox, she came to dress the womb of Hehewuti, mother of Joro. Her train of flowing auburn locks graced the wind. Burnt orchids’ kissed her neck, as she prepares the bed for Hehewuti with fresh lady’s bedstraw a temptress’s invites for her mistress’s lover. She kneels and watches the morning dawn. The new morn light reviles her eyes as blue as the dawn.

On the seventh day the wind carried mournful low cry of She  who comes for the hind, Chrisween alone, longs for the cry of whelps yet unborn, She burns within, a fire for a mate her eyes windows of flame. A wolf not of the pack, nor mate, is called “She”, Chrisween. She comes to the stone wailing her mantra, a lonesome cry, to find a mate to be loved, and waits for Hehewuti to answer.
 Dark clouds boil and Thor speaks
 Lighting sparks about the Henge, and the friar cowers mute to say more.
”TO YOUR POST, HELIOS COMES FOR JORO.” Clouds darken to a tempest rage, the ravages of time regressed. Helios rides on, and Joro sleeps.