Faeries arrive in the charm-struck moment.
Sun sets without waking Moon.
Light clings, hovering.
Air is suspended, the wood holds it’s breath and listens.
Swirling, a streaking thread through evening mist, parting the heavy, still air, leaving empty trails inches wide in their wake.
The wings, hundreds, heard before beheld.
Tiny, ethereal, with color barely there, visible when they, being only shapes of energy, alight a curved, arthritic branch for but a moment.
Then the heat diffusing the darkness, shards of light, glittering off gnarled Oak bark.
The dance has begun.
Minikin fingers, illuminant slivers, entwine.
Warmth marries light as a dervish of hushed wings spin, a luminous vortex of tinkling laughter, finally bursting apart in abandon.
Opalescent limbs loop through fireflies, snatching at beetle wings with milky-white toes.
Snippets of rose petals, wrinkled, softened by tiny fingers, sewn with gossamer cobweb, wreath imperceptible waists and shoulders.
Dewdrops, balanced on ethereal palms become gazing balls.
Faces, appearing in the roundness, laugh.
The laughter finds a muse in cricket music and the Bohdran beat of a ruffled grouse.
The charm-struck moment before Moon end; it draws breath, consuming the twilight.
Only iridescent wings glint, converging on the Faerie Ring.
Perched, each to a cap, their silver song slips into the spirit of those before them.
Ancient voices, quickened from time before time
Blend, swell, fill the wood.
An eternal lullaby, and the wood sleeps.
~E. Strain~
2007
Sun sets without waking Moon.
Light clings, hovering.
Air is suspended, the wood holds it’s breath and listens.
Swirling, a streaking thread through evening mist, parting the heavy, still air, leaving empty trails inches wide in their wake.
The wings, hundreds, heard before beheld.
Tiny, ethereal, with color barely there, visible when they, being only shapes of energy, alight a curved, arthritic branch for but a moment.
Then the heat diffusing the darkness, shards of light, glittering off gnarled Oak bark.
The dance has begun.
Minikin fingers, illuminant slivers, entwine.
Warmth marries light as a dervish of hushed wings spin, a luminous vortex of tinkling laughter, finally bursting apart in abandon.
Opalescent limbs loop through fireflies, snatching at beetle wings with milky-white toes.
Snippets of rose petals, wrinkled, softened by tiny fingers, sewn with gossamer cobweb, wreath imperceptible waists and shoulders.
Dewdrops, balanced on ethereal palms become gazing balls.
Faces, appearing in the roundness, laugh.
The laughter finds a muse in cricket music and the Bohdran beat of a ruffled grouse.
The charm-struck moment before Moon end; it draws breath, consuming the twilight.
Only iridescent wings glint, converging on the Faerie Ring.
Perched, each to a cap, their silver song slips into the spirit of those before them.
Ancient voices, quickened from time before time
Blend, swell, fill the wood.
An eternal lullaby, and the wood sleeps.
~E. Strain~
2007
To see more exquisite faeries, view the incomparable work of Brian Froud at http://worldoffroud.com/index.html
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