If within this hallowed body there is truly a soul,
It will be your bedtime story to read, if you will.
As a girl I knew it once, by heart and measured line.
It was set under a wide bower of viridian leaves,
Encompassing the cold grey stone of the garden well.
Perched upon its somber rim, I would strain to see,
The silvered water upon which so many hopes swam.
Yet its shadows would whisper longed secrets still,
And gave to me ranks of valorous ghostly friends.
Tip-toe on the ashen rocky edge, the mist fell away,
And show the vast heather moors circling the horizon.
The sun pierced the glade, and if I looked down just so,
A flutter of pale liquid glow danced over the deep stone.
So like the lambent eyes I hearken for as a woman grown.
The tale is undone, the journey to begin, all but the wish
Flung against the dark, for this shared thriving yen and want.
Ah, a place to put intimate details about my inner workings where anyone can read them, and most likely won't.
Let's get organized. Bits of fiction will be under Epic, verse under Edda, other diatribe will be found under Meandering Mores. Chronological labels will be added as needed.
Munin