The Letter

Dancing down
the castle steps,
down through darkness,
now and then dispelled
by squares of golden sunlight,
through the coolness, and the musty damp
of tapestried halls,
she hastens to the light
like a lark in spring--

Leaving the towers and town behind her,
she follows a meandering path
that leads beyond
the commerce of the village
to a woods,
grasshopper green,
not dark and shadowed,
but slivered by the shafts of sun
which streak the ruby damask of her gown--
She pauses once to listen
to gentle winds which ripple through
the leaves and play upon her mind
a soothing melody.
Then, on again, more quickly,
she seeks her destination,
now within her sight:
a wall of stones,
once carefully placed
by some ancient race
that held with rituals of the moon
and incantations.

She too moves like a priestess
of some ancient rite,
carefully lifting the heavy stone,
stealing shyly the folded missive
from her bodice,
pressing it warmly to her lips
a mere moment
before placing it beneath the
smoothness of the stone.
Her happy laughter seals the spell,
and she runs like a deer
through the green morning.

kathleen l. smith
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