Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “ring.” Use it as a noun or a verb. Bonus points if you use it as both. Have fun!
She knew who would appear before the cards even left her hands. Diane had been seeing the woman for days, and while she wasn’t exactly superstitious, the recurrence was starting to wear on her. Was there some message she was supposed to be receiving? If there was, she was darned if she knew what it could be. She decided to go right to the source, and turned the card over and focused her attention on the image. There she was, again, the lone stately woman elegantly dressed and standing in a vineyard, a hooded falcon on her upraised hand, and the beautiful scene all in golds. Diane gently touched the face of the card with her left palm, receiving the essence of the imagine, drinking it into her consciousness. Then with her right palm, she sent the intention gathered from her left into the rest of the deck.
Deliberately she placed the northern card face up and saw more gold. Clockwise, at each cardinal point, another card was placed. When she placed the eastern card, her breath caught as she saw the black rider, but she centered and continued, gold again, and again. The lady of gold was circled in gold and a pattern was emerging. The next ring of cards began with gold again, starting another progression clockwise as the cards were turned and placed. They talked of the beginning of the journey, a young man starting out, and at the sight of the final card and Diane’s eyes closed slowly at the image of a battered warrior. The way would not be easy. She sighed.
The eight cards would reveal the woman’s secrets, but only if Diane could tell their tale. This arrangement of the cards, known as the Fairy Ring, was always Diane’s truth teller. Inhaling, and now the spread was done. It was time to learn. She purposefully let her focus fuzz while taking an overview of the cards. Then she closed her eyes tightly. Counting three breaths, she opened her eyes, fully focused, and she drank in the story before her. “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” she said softly under breath. And the picture emerged. The journey would be physical, and path would be arduous, but she would persevere. That golden garden would be hers, peaceful and serene, and worth the struggle. “Turn, turn, turn,” she thought as she stacked the cards, tapped them three times, and returned them to their wraps of silk. Diane blew out the candle and whispered, “Thank you. Let the work begin.”
What I was listening to while writing: