Stream of Consciousness

January 29, 2009

Mired in thoughts

about this and that, here and there, now and then.

I muck around the ‘net

until time runs out,

and still my imagination is dry.

“Add New Post”?

But there’s nothing, nothing…

Then it laps downstairs

like crystal brook water:

Eleanor Plunkett.

She’s playing the harp.

Flow gently, sweet Afton.

Remember me to one who lives there.


Will-o’-the-Wisp

October 13, 2008

Something magical happened this weekend. E.g. and I walked too near a “thin place”. Too much magic, too many sprites. And as Livingisdetail can tell you, the wee folk deserve our respect. There were tears; it was briefly worse before it was better.

Now ’tis better. A faerie singer has come to stay.

 

  She’s none too tall…

She needs some gentle encouraging each time…

And she’s very particular about how she likes to be tickled. But properly handled, she sings out sweet and clear.

Better still, she already has a playmate.

She’s E.g.’s bewitching child. “Willa,” said E.g., “I think I’ll name you Willa.”