One foot in front of the other, moving in a smooth curve anti-clockwise. When his foot was about to close the circle, the path turned ninety-degrees to the left, and another turn, then Peter walked another smooth curve clockwise.
Contemplation. Meditation. The white gravel on the path crunched under his shoes as he watched them move. The world was on fire, and his corner was ashes. Crunch and crunch, moving anti-clockwise now. What good were ashes? A green sprout was bold against the white. He stopped, hands in pockets and frowned. He squatted. He contemplated. He stood. He walked.
At the center, he folded his arms across his chest and looked at the sky. Ashes were good for roses, and he was a good gardener.
Bearing Untold Stories 