I talk with you often,
as I walk along these paths.
Quiet words meant for paper soon
are a slow-paced conversation
through the grove of stately pines
and gathering of birch by the pond.
I tell you tales of men
who built great walls of stone,
of winged creatures who
sing from tree tops
and call out from the mist,
of striped-backed scouts who
cheep our arrival in the hollow.
There is a spot in these spirit woods
where I think I would show to you
the royal stag upon the hill,
the princes of Rohan
in full gallop through the glen,
the ethereal Viviane
in wait for her Arthur.
Perhaps you would think me mad,
talking to myself and
set in wait like this for myth.
And then, as sure as I am of love,
you would see it too:
that spirit of magic
as she shows herself here for you.
• • •
Photos ©2011, by Jen Payne