The Lady of the Forest

The Lilac Girl

My dreams haunted by laughter bring back a memory. A time when I had first left Peter and was alone in the world a girl with only her patterns and her thoughts. Lost and locked up tightly inside herself.

Autumn has arrived. Red, gold, yellow, orange, brown. Leaves that fall, fall, fall and twirl in the endless breeze. I am in a daze and that is when I see the lilac girl. A small little child perhaps 8 years old in a soft pink dress singing. Her eyes are the color of lilacs and her hair golden and slippery cascades down her back. In the strands are woven beautiful lilacs that surround her, peeping up between her toes. I want to call out to her, but I have no voice to do so.

Instead I approach her: right, left, right, left. She looks up at me and her small pink lips part to reveal a smile. She reaches out a small hand to me and I slink away from her touch. Her smile doesn't vanish, but she leaves the field of lilacs and I go to sleep under the watch of the stars. 

When I awake I hear a song, and for once I am glad to be without silence.

Little girl come home

Momma's been looking for you

We all worry when you roam

Don't worry about your troubles

Please just come home

Don't sacrifice so much

We all worry when you roam

Come on while the sun still shines

Please come home

Before winter chills find us

We all worry when you roam

Warm and salty water drips down from face and I find myself being hugged by the lilac girl. I wonder at her kindness and marvel at her words. Now we share a silence, but not like my silence, not a silence of solitude. 

For a week the lilac girl and I spend our days together, she weaves me crowns of lilacs and shows me where to pick mushrooms and berries. She smiles at me and sings her songs. She wipes away the tears and for that week my only pattern is the one I formed with the lilac girl. 

But my fantasy ended. Fire is cruel. Burning and licking, ever hungry for more. Fire for me was a sense of warmth on a cold day, but in autumn it can be death. Dry leaves and strong winds spread the flame that moves too quickly and unpredictably.

The field is already burnt when I arrive. The lilacs all gone, except for a single spot where one beautiful plant blooms. The plant is vibrant and bright as the lilac girl, with a comforting aura, and a sense of fleeting life.