The darkness wrapped itself around her ankles,
Spiralling up and over her skin.
It seemed to drip off her fingers like syrup,
And run through her hair like rain.
She danced in a ring at the top of the hill,
Singing and chanting a beat.
Wherever she went she left dainty footprints,
Made of that which is night
And she danced - The girl dancing.
A mist swirled in, covering the ground,
Wrapping it in its soft touch.
But it kept away from the girl in black
As she spun around the night.
Her dress swished, and the wind blew,
Her hair flew and clouds parted,
She clapped her hands and the moor grew still.
Not a sound in the night,
But that of the girl dancing
The she slowed and she stopped and the moon came out
Full over the moor.
She lifted her hands, and a fire arose.
A fire out of the moor.
Made by darkness and mist and a dancing girls feet,
Made by song, and rhythm and beat,
A fire call forth to worship the moon,
In the dark, out on the moor.
Made by a girl, dancing.
AN. Written January 2013