The Wood Between by Sara Menold

Golden flecks of sunlight tumbling through emerald

The smell of earth, of trees

Living, breathing, growing.

The river nearby,

Cool water gently combing its fingers through her hair.

Above the laughing, bubbling stream,

The wind caresses the leaves

Whispering its secrets to any who will hear

Inviting the wanderer to lose herself

In memory and dreams.

Stay…

Stay awhile

Let your eyelids fall

Slowly down,

Down.

Sweet surrender

And then the gently mocking whisper:

Pretty maid, be mine,

Mine,

Mine.