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Magnolia Grove
Fairies pirouette through the dew drops.
A duet of crickets fills the forest with a mist upon the lane.
Sunlight sprays sporadic patterns of light upon the trees.
The rhythm of spring jumps from trunk to trunk.
She passes this way daily
skipping between the pools of dew that lay themselves
bare upon the cobbled path.
What moment could more joyous be then this grove of magnolias?
Who’s love could be sturdier than the tree roots widening spread?
A subtle wind blows, knocking off her hat,
Leaves and twigs layer across the hat as it rolls to a stop.
The only question now: Hat? Or home without?
She had been warned, on nights dark with no stars to disrupt its grip,
NEVER LEAVE THE PATH!
The wind would blow around the house.
The fire would crackle.
And a shiver would trek its way up her spine.
Hat?
Or home without?
The fallout from home without a hat seemed much closer
than ghost stories told on a long distant night.
She dared to set one toe over the line dividing path and trees.
Then, jumping back, she waited for a storm to fall upon her.
She waited
and waited,
still and silent.
The twigs holding her hat in place
looked as if they would give out any moment.
She stepped full in to rescue her hat,
scurrying back to the path as quick as she could.
She cocked her head, then made a playful dash through the underbrush.
Whatever powers had lay here, were long departed.
Her parents’ words just a tale for school kids
who might wander off the path and lose their way.
Her sigh contained more than relief.
There was a touch of whimsical sadness
that the fairy tale was nothing but a tale after all.
Less magic in the world,
fairies disappearing into splashes of dandelions,
yet a flicker in the magnolia’s majestic bloom that might just be a fairy.
Copyright ©
Alison Hodges
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