The Visit… a seasonal poem

That time around midnight

When the air hangs as cold and as still as death itself.

When the earth sleeps

And only the creatures of the night are out foraging for food.

That was the time

When I saw her.

I had popped out to empty the rubbish.

I had my eyes half screwed up and was hunched because of the cold.

I didn’t notice anyone there at first.

The shadows;

They always seem to come alive at that time of night.

Yet I caught a faint flicker,

A kind of glimmer in the darkness.

Assuming it was light escaping from my half open kitchen door,

I made my way around the side of the house to the bin.

As I came back to the garden I heard a faint sound,

A beating of wings,

Then silence.

Something, I don’t know, made me look up and walk towards the pond.

It was then,

Then I saw her.

She was sitting on the rockery beside the overgrown heather,

Unaware I was watching,

Staring, utterly enthralled at the snowdrops.

I think she had never seen anything so beautiful,

But then neither had I watching her.

I could hardly dare to breathe lest my breath should give my game away.

Her delicate silvery hand stretched out to tenderly pluck a bloom.

I was unsure whether to move forward or back or just stay there.

Then in that instant,

In that very instant she saw me.

A moment transfixed in time

Lasting an eternity;

Yet in reality a split of a second.

Her eyes pierced mine

And I felt her soul and mine beat as one.

Recognition.

And in that very moment I knew I would never ever see her again.

It was as if she realised then, that she shouldn’t have been here.

Shouldn’t have been seen.

She gave me one last haunting glance

And with a gentle beat of her translucent wings silently faded into another realm.

 

The air was colder

And stiller than ever before.

A dark void was all that was left.

I walked over to the pond,

There on the ground were the snowdrops,

Strewn as she had left them

In her haste to depart.

I bent over and gently picked them up,

Caressing them against my cheek as I walked back to the house.

 

A lone tear dropped on to the perfect white petals.

I shut the door as I went inside,

Suddenly shivering.

 

Then started looking for a tiny vase.

 

fairy

 

Written 17th February 2003

‘The Keeper of Scrolls’

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Author: The MidKnight Garden & Midknights Tellings

Follower of the true Old Ways, tutor, writer, poet, photographer, lover of the arts, gigs and theatre. My love for my path and writing is a constant source of joy and inspiration to me.

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