Family, History and Love

Wanda and I have been discussing, of late, the need to set down in writing some portion of our family history so that in the future our children and grandchildren will have the stories and tales of our lives direct from the source. The technophile that I am, I choose to do this online so that the what we write will be accessible and available for comment to our wider family (though I reserve the right to moderate those comments).

To that end, I have repurposed this blog. In coming posts, we will endeavor to provide an abridged story of our life (hey, everyone has their secrets). We're writing this for our children and their children and those that come later so elements of these tales will be familiar only to our family,

Saturday, September 29, 2007

Wild Thing (NSFW)

Wild Thing

This morning when, at my window I stood,
Sipping my coffe and reflecting on good,
A creature stirred near the edge of the wood,
So amazing and lovely I scarcely could,
Believe my eyes for there in the light,
Stood so quietly; soft, frail and slight,
This unearthly, beautiful sprite.

Slowly and softly from the window I crept,
To the case where my camera I kept,
And gathered my gear and quickly stepped,
Back to the window not daring to accept,
That I might capture an image wild,
Of this lovely ethereal nature's child,
Who had me so easily beguiled.

She moved through the foliage with silent grace,
Clearly not of this world nor of our race,
My heart skipped a beat with she raised her face,
To look in my eye and smile with a trace,
Of sadness so clearly etched in her heart,
That humankind had become so smart,
We no longer believed in the mysterious art,

Of magic and legend and creatures of mirth,
Or spirits and sprites, not of this earth,
Evidence of which, I'll admit 'tis dearth,
But does not detract one wit from their worth.
She looked away and picked a bloom;
I raised my camera, focused and zoomed,
And took this image out of the gloom.

She did not startle, but fled right away,
This wonderful, mysterious Grace of the fae,
Under my mechanical scrutiny unwilling to stay.
And the last that I saw was the grasses sway,
As she passed from the light and into the glen,
And faded from the sight of all men,
Not to be seen until belief comes again.