… dawn broke behind a thick layer of fog that had buried the land beneath it for most of the night. Bea, too, had been buried; she was stretched out under a thick, warm comforter, sleeping soundly—unmoving and dreamless—as the minute hand on her bedside clock ticked through its circular arc. The sun, peeking over the horizon, had not yet attained the proper angle to enter her bedroom window and nudge her awake. It had brightened and warmed the air enough, however, to fully dissipate the remaining fog outside, as well as the bothersome midges, which were much better suited to cool and dark than to sunlight. Beneath that same window, the earth and rocks of the meadows and forests on Bea’s family estate had also started soaking up the sun’s rays, releasing puffs of vaporous steam into the air and adding their own type of beauty to the morning. Bea, however, remained oblivious to it all.
As the deep of night further enfolded the multitudes that gathered round the Stones, the temperature continued to drop, issuing forth countless billows of steam that rose among them as they breathed. Nervously awaiting the start of the grand ceremony, everyone either gazed upwards into the velvety-black sky, bespeckled with countless pinpricks of blinking light, or cast their eyes towards the round, full face of the dazzling Harvest Supermoon. But no matter where their attention lay, all of them had a sense of the critical, earth-changing events that were about to unfold. They knew that whatever happened, it would deeply affect their perception of reality going forward and cause their emotions to vacillate in a constant, chaotic cycle between anticipation, foreboding, uncertainty, and wonder.
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