A Story Snippet: Circling

The Mystic Files (Ep. 01 BONUS!): Orphaned prose which might someday find its tale.

Photograph by Veronika Diegel

Silver Apple Farm no longer produced apples. The trees were gnarled and hollow, twisting monuments to the passage of time. A friend had bought the orchard so that she and the trees could retire together, trading the rush and bustle of Manhattan for the quiet presence of the land.

After a long walk around the orchard’s edge, we came upon a small field. The cold had crept in as we strolled, and coffee was brewing in the farmhouse kitchen, so my friend turned toward home, opting for warmth and caffeine. But I was caught by the stillness of the autumn twilight. I found myself pacing a slow circle around the field, feeling the pull of the earth and sky. The land purred beneath my feet, and my heart ached to purr back. As my feet etched a circle on the grass, words began to flow and this scene emerged.