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AISLING
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things
The little faerie girl was fond of the night; she was fond of the day as well. In fact, she was predisposed to like everyone and everything she came across. Wind? It made the leaves of autumn dance. Rain? It made the flowers grow. Darkest night? It hid the sun so the stars could shine! And shine they did as the watched them from the water’s edge.
Aisling had arrived at the shore that afternoon. After dancing her way through miles of forest, it had suddenly opened onto a glorious sandy beach. She must have played for hours, running across the open sand and splashing in the heaving surf. She had found shells, basked in the warm sun, and chased a flock of gulls. What a day it had been! When the sun had begun its final decent the girl settled, exhausted but perfectly content, on the edge of the water to watch the sky salute the evening in a riot of color. Even then, she had not moved, for the stars began their dance through the heavens and Aisling had been too enchanted to leave.
So there she found herself, in the dark of night, listening to the gentle rush of water and gazing at the sky. In the dark, her pale coat seemed to carry a faint glow, the kiss of moonlight and shimmering stars. Below her, the waves rushed up across the sand towards her, the bolder ones coming to tickle and splash around her grey hooves. Distant as the stars might have been, hit head was raised, reaching for them, yearning for their light.
In the land she had left, she would have stood like this with her family, on the high cliffs instead of the sandy shore. Her mother would have told her and her brother the stories written in the stars, all the legends written in the faerie-ink of light. The girl thought of those stories, each running through her mind as she found the familiar patterns. Thinking of her family made her sigh. She did not regret leaving, such marvelous adventures she had found already, but she did wish just now that they might be here to share this with her. It was this though that had her relaxing her arching nape, pulling back down but still keeping her gaze trained above. The time for quiet was over, she though, quiet should never last too long. And she lifted her sweet voice and sang to the stars.
”I've met some folks who say that I'm a dreamer,
And I've no doubt there's truth in what they say.
But sure a body's bound to be a dreamer,
When all the things he loves are far away.
And precious things are dreams unto an exile,
They take him o'er the land across the sea,
Especi'lly when it happens he's an exile,
From that dear lovely Isle of Innisfree.
And when the moonlight peeps across the rooftops,
Of this great city, wondrous tho' it be,
I scarcely feel its wonder or its laughter
I'm once again back home in Innisfree.
I wander o'er green hills thro' dreamy valleys,
And find a peace no other land could know.
I hear the birds make music fit for angels,
And watch the rivers laughing as they flow.
And then into a humble shack I wander,
My dear old home and tenderly be-hold
The folks I love around the turf fire gathered
On bended knees their rosary is told.
But dreams don't last, tho' dreams are not forgotten,
And soon I'm back to stern reality,
But tho' they paved the footways here with gold dust,
I still would choose the Isle of Innsfree.”
Actions in the living world.
Daydreams and foolish fantasies.
“Words spoken aloud.”
Notes: Wooo! Seems a bit choppy, still trying to find her flow. She hasn't seen Hector because she's supremely unobservant, just standing down the beach being her dreamy self <3
Song: 'Isle of Innisfree' - Orla Fallon
[now come the days of the dreamer and they are filled with wonder and light ]
:: permission given for use of magic and force :: please tag Aisling in all posts ::
