Visions (Reprise)

It's pretty cool this morning, for this time of year. The warmth of the cup in my hands seems to offset the chill. The fog has covered the whole valley around me as I slept; a soft, gentle cobweb it floats above the ground, moving, swirling quietly on a whispered breeze. The pond is covered by a thicker mist that starts upward as a vapor and thickens as it climbs. And then I see her.

Standing hip deep in the cool, dark water there, smiling gently at me, calling to my soul with her dark eyes shining; come, come join me now. I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise and my hands shake slightly. It's her. I know her by the sound of her voice in my mind. Long black hair falling past her shoulders and over her breasts, warming the hard nipples beneath. It's her. I know the tender curves of her body that I have run my tongue over in my dreams again and again. The wind brings her scent to me through the mist and it is heavy and sweet. She is my Siren, I her Ulysses and she has me in her spell now. I close my eyes to find relief and when I open them, she is gone. Only my pounding heart and the memory of her vision, standing hip deep in the cool, dark waters; the dark, soft tuft of her womanhood barely visible above the waterline, remains.

I smile to myself wondering if she could feel me thinking of her as she slept, in her little mountain home. Did she jostle around a little and smile as my thoughts put their arms around her? I bet she did.

(Reprise)

It’s cold here this morning, so cold for this time of year. The brown grass crunches softly beneath my feet, laden with a heavy frost, as I walk to the gate. I feel a shiver as I rest my hands there on the cold metal and peer into the darkness towards the pond. The heavy fog is almost impossible to see through, reflecting dull moonlight on the crystals that seem to float on it. I have come here every morning since my last encounter with this Spirit Woman a fortnight ago.

When last I saw her, she was standing waist deep in the cold, dark waters, head down with her back too me. Her raven hair was draped across her delicate shoulders, hanging down her back like a shawl. Turning her head to look over her shoulder in my direction, I stood broken hearted at the icy reflection of a tear running down her cheek. I heard her soft, weary voice in my mind telling me to go, go from her now. She slowly turned and step by step disappeared into the depths of the water, the fog her only shroud.

I have come here every morning since that one, waiting, watching, hoping for another glimpse of her splendor. Nothing. The only sign that she was ever here is the chance whisper of her voice through the wind chimes; go, go from me now. I have entered into the Autumn of my life and can feel my Winter coming on by degrees everyday. I know that one morning I will venture to the gate only to find the pond covered in a sheet of ice, the lid to her tomb, encrypting her forever. Until then though, I’ll make this early morning journey, watching, waiting and hoping for another glimpse of her splendor.

I doubt she even knows she’s on my mind this mornin’. Hope she’s warm as my thoughts put their arms around her and she's happy in her little mountain home.

Copyright © 2007 WML

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