With anvils for feet, the snails may have moved faster, for their noose of anxiety wasn't pulled so tight. They may have covered more than to that of which I see, though the entire existence of their species may have been as long as I may had been looking. I would shoot arrows of curiosity without knowing where the target be.
Just as another fairy tale, relief on my feet was seemingly unimaginable, far fetched and unattainable. Like old change, seeds of a variety filled my pockets. The soil and sun were the only things I trusted. Reaping a sow would be a blessing unto me. After years of crawling, discovering, and disappointing wandering with wide eyes, the hills and peaks had shown as a distraction from the lessening softness of my now calloused hands. The necessity of rest was as strong as the need of a newborn baby's mid afternoon nap, but before the seeds are nestled, work mustn't cease. By every stem, petal, fruit, and butterfly, in the center of the valley of a vast bed of wild flowers would I hope to carry this heaviness no more. The desire for this comfort and caress lead me to find a sweet place to rest. For uncountable hours of wandering, only this would be gratification. I came upon a large patch of dirt as dark as midnight. With every handful of soil wriggling of worms graced my hardened palms. Only the ground saw me enchanted by the romance of its potential. The seedlings would be sung; "As you cuddle in the soil, remember that's where your roots will prepare, unto you this watering will fall, as you are all so loyal, I will be loyal to you, the air will give you care, let me lay eyes upon your beautiful hue, as the sun is what you will see, don't leave the soil bare, set yourself free". In the troughs like dried moats, each seed received a adornment of a kiss like that unto a child by their mother. Every hole doused like that of a spring sunflower, and burrowed into the sleeping dusk of dirt with the expectation of an awakening of a blossom. There, as one expects the rising of the sun, I would await the flowers arrival.
I lay suspended by the freedoms of a remote forest. Within the untouched, unadulterated altruistic scene of remoteness, the skepticism let drained. Knowing my skin may not be slaughtered by reaching thorns, I undressed layers of tattered threads. Most of what would freely escape from my lips were the enticement of belief motivated by bliss and enjoyment. Where my skin remained blushed and dewy from the days after the solstice of summer, to the later days of leaves saying good bye to the trees extended arms, and grass frosted by the baker of autumn, like a lightning bolt strikes at random, as did a stagnancy. The seedlings were viewed upon as the old dark witch from the town: cursed. It was as though they had stage fright and the sun was their audience.
I ask, "why, Lord? Has though forsaken my field? What must I bestow?". Concealed, like a feral cat, was the reasoning for this. As ritual as the church goers Sunday excursion, was my ritual of prayer.
Clouding in my mind happened with contemplation of a new pioneering. I knew this to be only a sliver of land off of the plank of fertile country side. Simultaneous to this fantasy, a shadow danced in the corner of my eyes. Usually trust worthy was my vision, though it became a mystery. Fear not did I, as I turned to follow the darkness, I saw nothing forthright. It's reappearance came as a spook, but as one would in a sword fight, I followed the elusive figure within my eyes. It was as though there was an unsuspecting solar eclipse at high noon. The figure didn't remain hidden, and the dancing ceased. As a knight removes their armor to cradle a loving partner, he opened his cloak to reveal a man with the most poignant essence of freshly mowed grass, smoldering ashes, and a thanksgiving meal. These things were the quintessence of my childhood. His eyes, not beating, but, like a baby's glare, soft and forgiving, unlike the folktales my father told me. Did my eyes deceive me? Ensorcelled, I had succumb to this. Uncontrollably my eyes repeatedly vertically gaze upon him. I met no gaze, but darkness. While the remembrance of evening tide pull you further if not in recognition of its power, without choice, or fight, I had succumb to this. Weighed down by rocks you couldn't see, as though I was called to my knees. His presence eluded to a parental guide. When I lay there, as I become sunk in the soil, He advised me. "This acreage will be your ball and chain for entering this land. With out excavation, Intentions of leaving your possessions have inhibited exiting though you desire continuation. You must water it with your tears". My golden hair became brown with dirt, and my pale skin so dark, as I wept till the sun grew cold, and the moon graced me like a lullaby with soft illumination.
As a once saturated sponge goes dry, by every last drop, drained dry were my eyes, and the ground enriched. After the clock hit twelve for the 10th night, The reaper spoke again. He said "This land was mine. I set it aside, so those who have evil in their heart may not reap what they sow here, so it may not be robbed of its nutrients for something unwholesome. Within it's enchantment, the soil may only be fertile by those who will enrich it with passion. If you wanted to leave you wouldn't be confined, but if your heart remained, as would you. You will stay until you may leave with something beautiful. This priceless soil belonged to me, as this is where my betrothed had lain. The tables have turned because it has been sowed by a someone who has surrendered to me. Your patients serves you. My dear, The wealth is in your heart." His encompassing gratitude, and cherishment remained, as he had left. The grandfather clock sung to the flowers, as did I.
I was always told only the sun could bring beauty in life. I wore a black veil of naive belief. The garden appeared to always have been misted. The sun kissed my plants so gently, their blooms were welcomes to this realm, and the wind would make them frolic together like a colorful oceanic wave, but instead of dolphins peaking the dense surface, you would see the makers of the garden. Relentless pollinators made the perimeter buzz. You could see the twinkle and flutter of every dragonfly, lady bug, butterfly, and bee as their fluorescent wings caught the sun. Almost as though my life depended on it, like a bear in a cave of constant hibernation, I would nestle myself in this secret garden. Leaving here with nothing but flowers intertwined in my hair, and around my heart.