A circle shows the entire, an orange that may contain several, filled with no corners. The body of knowledge, The elderflowers in bloom, a short window, full of light. Perfect one day, shabby the next. She picked them as they fell ripe. Drew a circle upon the muslin to prepare the steeping cloth and stepped back. And that is that.
In spring she was planting and intended and waited and watched. She gathered together in a basket and took them in. There, she shook out the white muslin in a draw, laying it out, she took the fire charcoal, and, without so much or preparation, she drew a large circle on the cloth with one sweep. The beginning was intense, and the end was feathery, otherwise it was perfect. To bind the elder flowers in and steep them, delicate.
The circle was proportionate. In a town, small but formed. In a house, small but busy. In the garden, in the one room, but most of all in the kitchen. Wooden table of wood, a knife and pan of metals and a jug. Will it taste sweet? Wait and wait little ones. Elderflower cordial, the summer in a glass. Why wasn’t I there?
At that moment, came to her house a visitor. Hello, hello, I have knocked and you have opened, She halted her preparations. His visit was unwelcome, still, must be polite. Can I borrow a thing, lovely woman. Well would you look at that. He measured and measured with his folding staff and declared a miracle. The teacher, who knew a thing, said that he came to talk about her children, but, in truth, came to visit the woman and could not stay away. That is delicious, really delicious.
How can this circle be so regular when the world is so disrupted. Even the wind blows at an angle, the bus comes at a different times, give or take, the animals become mischievous, two halves do not always make a whole and the survival of the recessive gene that indicates blue eyes is inexplicable, although they make a convincing stab. It is all too irregular for a simple man, Said the Visitor.
The Woman, although aback, agreed. I touch the smooth wood of the table and the rough wood of the house beams, and they are not. I speak and cannot be heard for the howling. I hold a still place in the whirling world, such that my small ones have a centre and hand hold. I am the water carrier, I am the water that runs over the stone, I am the water of life. Within the circle drawn is the holding place, the quiet place, and it is perfect.
He continued, not listening, the apples are all different colours, the roof creeks at night, sometimes the stars fall, my cat is scared of me, the clouds are never the same shape, the weather comes early or late, or sometimes not at all, my love is fickle, the sun hides its face and the price of bread fluctuates like a settlement of small hills. Sometimes in winter, there is frost in a shape so intricate that it cannot exist. How can a man?
What is it like when the weather does not come at all? She said, but he could not hear.
Your circle is a represent of what we all want and need and should be hung in golden frame and worshipped. Said the visitor.
That’s not a very good idea, She said, you know how foolish people are. Let it go.
Let it go, repeated the Guardian, this circle is the Water Carrier’s safe place, see the water mark upon her wrist?
The Guardians of the Cave 