Dryad’s Bubble: A Dream

Lovely lean long limbs
Silken silvergreen waves swirled centrifically
As she spun
To sounds silent.
Was there a soft melody?
Wind’s breath,
Stream’s sigh,
Moth’s whisper
Underneath the descending dusky darkness.

Unaware of my observation
She swayed slowly
Graceful linear curves
Lost in silent rapture
Solitary
She began to sing
Low
Raspy dry
Her voice crackled
Like her skin as she danced.
The song in a language old, enchanted
Older than my people,
Old as hers.

Trees around her shape-shifted
She kept up the wild call
To dance
Revel
Abandon
Shake off earthly constraints
Let spirit transcend vessel.

Now trees, now creatures
Now creatures, now trees
Faces, limbs, bodies, trunks
Joined in the slow dance.
A display of something lost
Forgotten but almost remembered
Yet necessary as breath.

I awoke in sorrow to the world
Magic is lost
Are we also lost without it?
Or imagination?