The Summer Girl

The summer girl wears lilies in her hair and sunlight on her skin, always. She favors skimpy silk dresses and is partial to boys with curls. She kisses a number of them, lips reckless in the moonlight, until she finds her favorite, the one without tan lines. 

He is so smitten that he forgets his own name until she gives it back to him, murmured over and over into his hot skin while the rest of the world slumbers. In the morning his eyes shine and his limbs glow. All of his friends are jealous.

The couple spends long afternoons lounging on the beach or splashing in the sea and at night they chase fireflies. They have not spent more than a few moments apart since they met; their entire world is comprised of one shared delight after another, each pursued with a leisurely disdain for time. And then the nights turn crisp.

He is surprised to discover that she owns neither jacket nor socks. He slips his sweater over her head, but it is not enough to stop her shivering. The next day he wakes to a cold pillow and a puddle of silk on the floor. He cradles the dress in his arms and weeps her name into it, but the summer girl is gone.

For months he pines for her touch, dreams her shape back into the bed beside him. He sees her face in every passing cloud and shouts his love for her into the sky until he is hoarse with longing. Eventually her memory fades to a whisper only, but for the rest of his life, the scent of lilies instills heartache.

Angels in the Necropolis

Layered photos taken at Laurel Hill Cemetery

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This post is dedicated in loving memory to my hero, inspiration and soul friend ~ my Dad. 

Here be Dragonflies

Once

There was a time

When the world was filled

With dragonflies, only.

The sun’s rays shimmered

In delight at their song

While the wind sang harmonies

And it was oh, so pretty.

It was almost perfect, in fact,

Until they finally realized

There was no one on earth

To dance along with,

To record their flight,

To share in their beauty.

There was no one

Who would ever

Dream  

Of wings.

On Thyme

Thyme in the garden

Transports a mere, mortal girl

Into fairyland.

Into the Woods

Mother always told me to stay out of the forest.  I tried to heed her words, of course, but the longing to explore was stronger. Only a few steps in, I’d tell myself, but that was just enough to be seduced by woodsy scents, by sun and shadow, by moss and stone. With each broken promise, I’d find myself further down the path.

I’d bring home secret gifts; stray bird’s feathers, bluebells by the bunch or a scattering of acorns. Each one was a silent plea: Mother, share in my found beauty. Mom only grew more distant. We were two ghosts living in a silent house. I don’t know which of us felt more betrayed.

One afternoon, I stumbled upon a cottage deep in the woods. It was surrounded by wildflowers and row upon row of vegetables and fruit trees. I raised a perfect peach to my lips and as its juice dripped down my chin, I heard a song drift through the window. Each charming note rang with the sound of my name. It was hard to leave, but I plucked three red apples and brought them back with me.

When I went to my room, I discovered a brilliantly colored leaf tucked between my pillows. It trembled in the light, all glow and shimmer, and I saw that the veins spelled out a single word: COME. I didn’t even bother to pack; I left the apples on the kitchen table, put one foot in front of the other and fled into the forest.  I hope you enjoy the fruit, Mother.

I ran through the woods in the fading light. By the time I got to the cottage, my hair was filled with brambles and burrs clung to my limbs, but I saw that the door stood open and just inside there was a table set for two. A woman was bent over the oven, obscured by a cloud of steam rising from a fresh-baked pie. “Sit,” she said, and I did.

She set the pie between us and I stared into her face. How could I fail to notice that the green of her eyes so closely matched my own? She had soil under her fingernails and bits of bark clung to her apron. She took a single key out from her pocket and placed it in my hand. “I’m glad you finally found your way here,” my mother said with a radiant smile, “Welcome home.”

A Moment of Zen

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Be still.

Become

A wish

Suspended

In the moment.



Ophelia



Flower-clad, she slipped

Her longing-filled limbs

Into the stream.

Some say

She was still singing as

Sweet lips submerged,

Her fine face framed

By long silk strands like

Cupid’s-grin ripples

That drifted

Slowly downward,

Surrounded by

The poison petals

Of lost love.

With her last breath

She exhaled his name.

There. Look.

Such a picturesque tribute

To the sunken depths

Of a broken heart

And of hope, drowned.