For Ophelia

Dappled light plays on a mossy bank as the tranquil waters of an idle stream meander dreamlike through summer, thick with nature's bounty. The only sound on the pregnant air is the stirring of a dragonfly's wing as it sings it's summer song on this long, lazy day. Along the way a maiden chances and dances, barefoot among the camomile, whilst, all the while, humming a tuneful air and, weaving flowers in her hair, reclines supine by the babbling stream perchance to dream or while away the day in idle play as sunbeams dance at the rivers edge. Her limpid hand idly lands in the cooling waters at her side whilst hidden fishes secretly glide the river's race and, on her face, a look of complete tranquility. Lost in the reverie of her borrowed moment, as, in the foment of her idle rapture the flaccid waters try to capture a moment in time, a time sublime, when he was hers and the world was theirs and nothing else mattered, but the dream was shattered, and here she lies and sighs amongst the campion and meadowsweet, waiting. Anticipating his return, but the memories burn and the yearning never subsides as her body gently glides into the waters welcome caress and her diaphanous dress floats, dreamlike into oblivion.