Fairy Tale - Part 3a

Midway through the season, Just as the tulips were fading A breeze from the north carried portents of late frost. Leaves began rustling more yellow than green Mixed with their whispers the faintest of sounds A familiar undertone A voice. Her voice? Startled and hopeful She headed upwind toward the distant horizon Among whose clouds she would seek what was lost . As she trudged through the meadows the voice became clearer The pitch, tone and rhythms combining in words ‘If only,’ she heard. Intent on her purpose She marched to the mantra If only, if only Directing her way. She was unaware that the clouds were approaching her Faster than she was approaching them. Dark grey and billowing Quickly they met her Showering crystalline all around. If only if only The voice still it beckoned She followed ‘til every vision turned white Then stopped and squinted Into the whiteness ‘til shadows appeared just off to the east. If only, if only The voice still it beckoned She felt a compulsion to blindly follow But drawn by the safety the shadows suggested She veered off her course And soon came upon Rubble from some long since forgotten storm. Enclosed in shelter Exhausted she slept. A vague dream of another voice too faint for words Caressed her ‘til waking dawn