Circles – By T. Paul Buzan
Flash Fiction / December 20, 2009

On some nights in the lambent, moonlit air shadows of tall pines and burial mounds seem to dance and move volitionally all along the mountain. They tumble and chase one another like children or young animals at play. There are stories that tell of those who long ago tended the warning beacons for which this mountain is named now wandering here after death – restless spirits waiting to be reborn. On nights when the shadows tumble and dance the stories could be true. It is late summer. At dawn the sky still breaks against the mountain in waves of pale blue mist. The sun emerges and the waves of mist recede, drawn in to wait again for nightfall when once more they will flow upon the mountain’s face in an azure tide. From the vanishing darkness a rooster’s crow heralds the momentary triumph of a new day. The clattering of my alarm clock shatters the sleep that surrounds me and I surface from a dream. Lying in bed I struggle to guard from marauding consciousness the fading apparition of a girl who is at once both as strange and remote to me as a fairy kingdom and the sum of…