Breeze Woman Slumbers

The moonlit grass was metaphorically mystic in its cool, methodical, grandiose offerings of solace to the gentle breeze-woman who could not abide the ruin of her evermore. Softly, silently, without any hesitation, she laid her burden down on the caring grass bosom illuminated by the entangled mono-speak of the faeries. Butterflies surrounded her, illuminating her starlit dreams with dreams of their own. Sometimes the dream masters can fix things well beyond the realm, head nymph told head elf. For a solid minute, in mutual respect and solitude, they formed a rescue mission, and sprinkled breeze-woman with the magic that she needed to do what only she could do. Sandman sashayed over, surveyed the nymphs, and elves and tucks, raised one finger to his gentle mouth. “All hush,” he said, his whisper a bare wisp. “She is finally asleep.” They surrounded her with love and joy and cheer, only silently. Everyone loved Breeze Woman. All was well in the forest.