L E N A
black clouds are behind me, I now can see ahead

Muse; influence and inspiration deriving from the honeyed, ambrosial qualities of life, where the winds arched and crooned, where the sun cast its radiant rays, where the dawn met dusk and whispered serenity, tranquility. Finesse in the silken twilight, artistry in the satin rise, finery lavished into the splendid opulence of an impulsive catalyst, a laureate’s favored subject, an author’s particular word, a sonnet’s blessed stanza – and she longed to ensnare it all. The divine waltz, the beguiling, alluring bolero, the sinuous, serpentine curve of minuets, the crown of regalia driven into the core of her lissome, elegant oeuvre, all yearning, hoping, to be contained, encompassed, embraced into the sanction of her nymph soul. The harpsichord rhapsody, the taffeta wings and strings, the grandeur, the resplendence, the dulcet designs due to bloom from her aspirations and convictions, all brushing, caressing, soft, light motions of a sanctified creature, enlightening the world with her own rapture and reverie. Varnished and lacquered to the hallowed, enticing whims and fancies of warmth, of defiance, of prevailing beneficence, where atrocious turmoil seethed and simmered and the twisted glade of her boughs fought against bewitching, beguiling misery, the hush, the fall, the blossoming floret riddled by melodies of morality and sin. She scoured the prosperous eaves for the capricious benedictions of innovation and insight, visions scattered amongst the smooth pieces of lilies and persimmons, petals and copses. Longing to mold them to her lips, to incite mellifluous chords, to awaken assuaging restlessness, to kindle the unyielding invocations and grace of her beautiful crusade, quest, odyssey. To conspire against the wicked doldrums, to banish the flames of iniquity, to enliven the senses of morality, she touched the sinew of sins, drew poison from their barbs, unleashed the toxins with the brilliance of song, with the absorption of a smile – tender, enchanted affection. A purpose from the straying whims and fancies of a capricious world, wholesome and magnificent, crafted into assurances of belonging.

Emboldening another restless genesis, she strayed from familiarity and procured inquisition to the halls of majesty and regal lace. Pressing her form along the pines and leaves, the mysticism and enigmatic twist of the labyrinthine deeds, the licentious pull, the alluring tragedies, the beams of luminescence sprinkled from heavens to reign over purgatory, enticed her and the stalwart, valiant drive for absolution and innovation. She intertwined the rich sienna hide of her ethereal entity into the remorseless thickets, movements swift, quick, lissome amongst the brambles, becoming immersed in the haunting temptation of darkness and light, visions of the past flickering, billowing flames against the grandeur of her beneficent mind. The firs sheltered and hindered, the needles scraped and protected, the fronds crowned and brushed, pulsed and withered, stroked and embraced. Was that what enamored her to these carnivorous boughs now, the ravenous, consuming turbulence of another time? Was that what she could draw her enchantments from, not the creeds of present, but the sorrows of yesterday? She thought back to the glimpses of her childhood, the youth spent in despair, isolation and forlorn desolation, shaping her into the unyielding, sanguine heart she was now - no, perhaps not. How could one heal when they always evoked the melancholies of preceding days?

Her motions and sentiments ceased momentarily at the sound of a voice shouting amongst the formidable glade. A wraith pressing its terrors, a knife, a blade, in the shadows? A ghost in the convictions of coveting, bestial delusions? A hallucination? Noble head raised, ears swiveling in various directions, trying to pinpoint the location of the howl, cracked, remorseful, a bellow sent into strands of nothingness. Curiosity sought the strands of her deliverance, beguiled and ensnared all over again, and she forgot about brambles and barbs, thorns and quills, and ushered the refinement of her sylph essence once more. Earth and air, lithe and limber, the fae from the midst and mist, the fairy made from cruelty and optimism, motivated by vitality, by interest, by strength and perseverance: affable, amiable, ardor of life and sincerity. Lined by stalwart, intrepid motions, the silken strands of her movements followed the tangled clamors, breaking into the radiance of sunlight as her gaze finally settling upon a beat – corporeal, real, true, not a spirit awakened by immorality. His horn marked him as the same species as she, but it had been disassembled – broken, snapped? The scent that wafted from him caused her heart to leap for one slender second, gave her pause, made her yearn for that turbulent Edge, those ferocious waves, the fearsome, powerful cliff tops that bowed to no one. In the next instant its gone, and she studied him further, the stag drenched in ether, in the elegiac posture of the pool, where illusions heightened and crimson flowed. She looked away from its core, the quelled brew of ichor and death, and attempted to resolve the chimera, stepping from the thicket, layering the world with her humming, mellifluous tones, wondering over the nature of his derision, the weight of his scorn, the beat of his ailments. Where was the muse now, lost and tangled within his trance? Could she find the right words, the right melody, to reassure, heal, him too? An innocent whisper, a sincere smile, a dip of a regal head, a warm, springtime gaze, and the influence of integrity and resilience, plaited into her confident core. “Are you well?”