The Castle In the Gloom

On Devon’s moors I found myself walking to clear my head, to shake off loss for just a bit, and see a color other than red, feel something other than dead. A fog surrounded me that day, but something stood within the gray. It rose up high behind the mist, a shadow only half-seen, robust and solid in its build, with hints of mossy green, Like an aged, medieval dream… How could this be? And yet I knew, there stood a castle in the gloom. Never had there been one before in this quiet, desolate place. I knew not where it came from, if was even of time and space, and yet closer to it I paced, Then stopped cold when I heard a cry, I knew that voice! My Lorelei! Frozen at the sound, I gasped, what I heard could not be. My dearest was dead two months now, cancer had taken her from me, but the soft cries made me believe. I sprinted hard, stumbling much, my darling wife I longed to touch… But as I neared, the mist shifted, the castle faded, then was gone. On my right I saw it once again, far afield, the distance long, but for her I would press on. The castle moved as if on feet, forward and back, ever so fleet. Yet still I heard her yearning call, and pressed the changing track. Along the way a weight lifted, lightness came to my back, as if some burden now I lacked. But I paid no heed to pain or strife, I only cared to find my wife. It mattered not, the other folks, who walked out on the moor. They clustered around a supine form, but to their thoughts I was inured, for Lorelei I must endure. Lighter still came each long step, but I haven’t reached the castle yet… Yes, I see it! Now I see her, a faint shape on the castle wall. The cry keeps coming to my ear, I cannot waiver, flag, or fall, even if I have to crawl, I’m coming, dear, I’ll be there soon, I will reach that castle in the gloom.