A day late - what can I say? Someone posted this to one of my groups and it's so beautiful that I wanted to share it!
Beltane Story by Blayze
A man stands at the bottom of a large hill. He is cloaked in verdant green.
Flowers and vines growing amongst the folds. He is crowned with antlers of
many tines standing tall and proud from his brow. His skin gleams with
patterns of gold, copper and bronze and he carries a silver flame headed
spear encrusted with filigree of silver wire and green enamel.
It is mid-morning and the man appears healthy and well rested, yet there is
longing in his eyes. He begins to climb the hill, cradling the spear to his
breast. As he climbs he throws his cloak over his shoulders and it can be
see that he wears only a loin cloth beneath it. The climb is a long one as
the path winds about the hill. Halfway up the hill he comes across a clear
spring trickling amongst the rocks on the side of the hill. The rocks have
formed a small, shallow, clear pool amongst the greenery. He cups his hands
and drinks from the well, carefully he cleans the spear with the clear
waters, wiping the spear dry gently with his cloak. His touch is tender for
so seemingly powerful a man. He dips his antlers in homage to the well and
continues his climb up and around the hill.
At the top of the hill is a circle of standing stones, some rough hewn and
some smooth and sensually curved. The grass is carpeted with wild flowers
and his nostrils flare as he picks up the heady sent of summer just begun.
The man moves with grace and regal bearing to the centre of the circle. The
sun has reached its zenith and the hot rays beat down upon the golden skin ,
reflecting from his bronze coloured hair. Reverently he lays the spear upon
the ground and with his hands begins to dig a small hole in the grass. He
gives a mighty cry, half keen, half lust and when the hole is deep enough,
he picks up the spear once more and plants the base into the ground. The sun
gleams upon the silver flame of the tip.
When the spear is emedded in the earth, the ground gives a tremor and the
man struggles to stay upright. The stones around him begin to crack. The
sound of breaking stone rending the air like thunder. The man closes his
eyes and kneels down before the spear . From inside the broken standing
stones emerge equal numbers of flower crowned maidens and young men all
naked to the sky and sun except for ribbons wound about their waists. White
for the men, red for the women.
Slowly they emerge from the stones and surround the kneeling man. One by one
they unwind the ribbons from eahc other's waists and tie them to the head of
the spear, trailing the ends out along the ground. They touch the man and he
stands. They take the cloak from him and lay it along the ground where the
flowers and leaves rise up in a whirlwind and scatter to form colourful
designs upon the naked skin of the maidens and youths.
The man's loincloth is removed also, a length of golden material that forms
into a sunbeam, illuminating the longing in the man's face.
The young men and women motion to the man to stand against the spear, his
legs entwine it, his arms wrapped about the haft, his lips upon the silver
flame.
The breeze picks up and makes music amongst the wildflowers and grasses. The
young men and women each take up a ribbon and begin to dance, weaving their
ribbons against the man as they spin.
They dance and weave, dance and weave to the beautiful music of the wind,
ever weaving the man the silver spear toegether. Finally all that can be
seen is a man shape woven into the red and white ribbons.
The women and men dance away from the ribbons and make one turn around the
top of the hill, dancing in and out of the remnants of the standing stones.
As one they move back to their ribbons and begin to dance in the opposite
directions from before, unweaving the ribbons. A glimpse of pale moonbeam
can be seen bent against the burnished bronze hair of the man . As the
dancers unweave the ribbons they see that the man is now embracing a lovely
maiden who shines with power. The spear has vanished and their naked bodies
are entwined skin to skin, heart to heart, moving to the rhythm of the
dance. Joy flows from them like the ribbons. The lovely woman is wearing a
crown upon her head to which the red and white ribbons are tied. She is the
Queen of the May and the man is her King.
As the ribbons unwind the couple's hands explore each other and their lips
are locked together in a passionate kiss.
The young men and women slowly drop their ribbons to the ground, laying them
gently upon the grass. Lines of power can be seen flowing from the ribbons
out across the land. The young men and women move to the border of the stone
rubble. The day is turning to night and as the dusk settles, great bonfires
can be seen joining the lines of power from hilltop to hilltop as far as the
eye can see. Still the King and Queen embrace as fertility flows across the
land, following the lines of ribbon, light and flame. They are as one, their
limbs entwined like the ribbons of the sacred dance.
The young men and women pair off and entwine with each other. Slowly the
stones reform around them, spirals of rough and smooth rock encasing them.
The King and Queen's embrace ends and they slowly draw apart. The Queen
removes her crown of ribbons and draws the ends of the ribbons close to her.
Still the fires blaze in the distance. She wraps the ribbons around the
King's body where they begin to harden into armour. The armour takes on the
bronze, copper and golden hues of the King's body. Naked no longer he is
once again clothed in power and protection.
The King takes the crown from her and reverently places it upon her moonbeam
hair.
The Queen moves back from him and it can be seen that she has a rounded
belly, pregnant as the land is pregnant, fertile as the land is now fertile.
The King reaches into the ground and draws the land like a cloak around her
body, she sinks to the ground in its embrace, a smile of contentment upon
her lips. She is cloaked in the wildflowers and grasses, a gesture returned
in love.
He kisses her once more as night envelops them, glowing bonfires on every
hill slowly winking out, one by one.
