The Isolation Years
Chapter IV- A Hawks feather laced with Blossom and
We step down upon the beaten earth, a maze of dreams arose amidst my feet, i shuddered as the cool dew on the grass kissed my ankles. Now slowing i elegantly glide down the path, deeper into the valley I pass, my foot steps hidden by the song of the sky lark. A scent of early cherry and apple flow out the swirling fog upon the morning breeze. A dim greenish yellow light glistens threw the birch leaves. The faint breath of the earth sooths my flesh once again.
I keep to my soft pace into the incising limbs of the fog. The sound of water tickling down rocks in to a pool start to feel the air from afar, I see her, the Hawk hovering over the thick Reeds and Hemlock, she darts down into the thicket. I wait some time but the bird never comes aloft.
I carry on further into the unknown, as the path fades into a the soft fresh grass of a glade, the soil some what damp, as my feet slowly sink with each step. I tilt my head to the left as if to expect to see a lynx, but instead I saw the sight that only the dead must usually see.
Slowly rising from the icy waters, steam rose from her hair of red gold, that lay like a silk lace down her flesh. This heavenly flesh only to be described as the petals of a Snow-drop in the January frost. A light breeze blow lifting her hair high it to the air, reviling her bare body, petite but smoothly curved. she turned and moved as if she was floating along the flow of the river to the distant sore of the waters. I blinked my eyes on opening she was gone and all that could be herd was the echoing sound of the calls of a hawk.
I knew not whom she was, I thought of who she could be; a spirit, a Valkyrie or even Nerþuz mother of Frøya.
The fog rapidly grew thick and dark, it swirling arms wrapped around me, locking me with its clasp. With in the darkness I felt my body rise from beneath me, and carried upon the breeze down the valley. Soon the fog started to retreat up into the hills.
I was lost, my fears confirmed as i saw nine ravens sitting on the dead twisted branches of an ancient yew tree. I took three more steps and fell to the ground, trapped in the watery soil of the myre, I became consumed by the earth, slowly the liquid like soil spiralled up my legs drawing me down into it's trap below. the smell of peat filled my lungs as the damp must of decay lingered with in my nostrils, then a breeze wavered across me, carrying the savoured scents of cherry blossom and bluebells as if it was sent to give me a final gift as I closed my eyes to think of her, the last person I saw that day. The last person I ever saw...
I keep to my soft pace into the incising limbs of the fog. The sound of water tickling down rocks in to a pool start to feel the air from afar, I see her, the Hawk hovering over the thick Reeds and Hemlock, she darts down into the thicket. I wait some time but the bird never comes aloft.
I carry on further into the unknown, as the path fades into a the soft fresh grass of a glade, the soil some what damp, as my feet slowly sink with each step. I tilt my head to the left as if to expect to see a lynx, but instead I saw the sight that only the dead must usually see.
Slowly rising from the icy waters, steam rose from her hair of red gold, that lay like a silk lace down her flesh. This heavenly flesh only to be described as the petals of a Snow-drop in the January frost. A light breeze blow lifting her hair high it to the air, reviling her bare body, petite but smoothly curved. she turned and moved as if she was floating along the flow of the river to the distant sore of the waters. I blinked my eyes on opening she was gone and all that could be herd was the echoing sound of the calls of a hawk.
I knew not whom she was, I thought of who she could be; a spirit, a Valkyrie or even Nerþuz mother of Frøya.
The fog rapidly grew thick and dark, it swirling arms wrapped around me, locking me with its clasp. With in the darkness I felt my body rise from beneath me, and carried upon the breeze down the valley. Soon the fog started to retreat up into the hills.
I was lost, my fears confirmed as i saw nine ravens sitting on the dead twisted branches of an ancient yew tree. I took three more steps and fell to the ground, trapped in the watery soil of the myre, I became consumed by the earth, slowly the liquid like soil spiralled up my legs drawing me down into it's trap below. the smell of peat filled my lungs as the damp must of decay lingered with in my nostrils, then a breeze wavered across me, carrying the savoured scents of cherry blossom and bluebells as if it was sent to give me a final gift as I closed my eyes to think of her, the last person I saw that day. The last person I ever saw...