The moonlight had carried her to the riverbanks. There, she had been swept away, believing she was safe in its magical light. It was not long before she became trapped in its shimmering reflection. She tried to draw breath but found that she could not. A man on a white horse watched from the bridge. He admired her beauty with sadness before turning and riding away. The trees lowered their branches to help her. She reached for them desperately, her outstretched fingers only close enough to brush the tangled vines.
The moon continued to sing its hypnotic melody; the flowers turned their faces away from the blue light.
Her cries went ignored as she pleaded for anyone to save her.
No one came.
She never should have followed the Moonlight Shadow, someone commented. She felt the blame wash over her and she knew that it was hopeless, the act was entirely her fault. She stopped fighting, no longer able to find the strength. She accepted her fate and eventually let go of all struggle. As she disappeared beneath the black surface her spirit floated towards to the sky, still drawn to the glittering light of the moon.
Such a pity, was all that they said and quickly forgot about it. The flora and fauna were the last to mourn her as they released their leaves and petals into the night sky. Those who walked the forest at night could often hear the wailing cries said to come from the Lady of the Lake who, seduced by the light of the moon, was not the first to drown in its shadow.
…resemble an airport bar…
Has it really been a year? The days slipped away like cascading sand but my chest carried the weight of decades gone by. If I recount the last 365 days I can only muster a few dream like images: the smell of the canal in summer, a hot breeze rustling through dry leaves. The perpetual feeling of longing, trying to hold on to something real. Everyone will have their own version, stories of private epiphanies that changed them forever. The sense of waiting stalks me like a shadow. I’m hurtling on a bus that I cannot jump from. Perhaps that is not the right analogy. I’m standing on a platform at a station that only has a few trains but I refuse to buy a ticket.
I stood outside golden houses watching, pleading for my senses to be dulled so I could block out the colourful sounds and smiling faces. I had been locked out of the palace, left outside and forgotten. The ivy had started to cover me as it took root and slowly pulled me down. There was no forward, neither could I go back – the only way was down, or up. The ground invited me with it’s warm and safe surroundings. I was promised my own hiding place, a way to escape. I would dig deep, they could never hope to find me… But I could feel the sun, her rays stroking my skin. She quenched my thirst with rain, she sent birds to sing me to sleep. The ground pulled and pulled, but I stretched up and up, higher and higher until I could no longer see the ground. I can still feel it, I know it is there. Sometimes I wish to go back, but it is too late now. Occasionally the heavy rains will fall and I feel them drowning my foundations. That is when the ground pulls once more, and buries my roots all the deeper.
When did my life start to resemble an airport bar? A revolving door that I cannot exit, no matter how many times I go round. Do you ever have those dreams, the ones when you are desperately searching but you can never find your way back to where you started? You cannot help but keep trying, even though you know that whatever magic is holding you in place is completely beyond your own power.