the kingdom awoke,
to blossoms and berries;
it was the awakening:
the harvest of the fairies.in ambient warmth,
wild flowers grew;
butterflies came out
of their silent cocoons.their chrysalis was home.
alabaster wings spread,
fluttering up and down,
alights on a flower head.the promise of winter lifting;
the thickets of woodlands
soundlessly shifting.springtime tea on
mid-morning May;
ever present is the existence
of arthopology fae.silia, the kalesa turns left,
the stallion of sorrow,
it lives in a hologram,
in chronicles, in sparrow.the white stallion stops,
then, she got down;
her feet on the rainsoaked,
cobblestone ground.mossy barks that
century-old oaks wore
feel damp after the rain,
in the sweet, subtle petrichor.magnolia lanterns
ebbed a canary yellow light;
the spirit of the people:
a breathtaking sight.to love thou art,
she's a wanderess
who rode off-course,
and love returnest.between two worlds,
she has yet to explore.
maps untouched, faraway lands,
was what she longed for.but she had to go home,
asked for a way.
then she saw him:
the boy she was sketching
yesterday.
YOU ARE READING
A&E
Short StoryYou were always getting me into trouble, but then again, just as easily getting me out of it.