The Conductor

Crisped browning around the edges and the deep forest green paled. Sitting in the glade she visits daily. Strands of long copper hair float in the wind. Majestic oaks encircle her, a diminutive child. A long intricate braid sweeps her upper thigh and ice blue eyes dart behind overgrown bangs. Chilled air rushes through the leaves, both browned and still pale green. A thick layer of decay carpets the forest floor, hushing the footsteps of wanderers. The wind suddenly stilled, two porcelain translucent arms raise skyward. Purple veins crisscross bony hands their fingers dancing intricately with the wind’s lilt. Slow, mourning notes forming beneath the mop of red create a symphony unheard and unknown. The frail and sickly body the conductor its intensity swelling with the wind. Tears rim blue eyes, and the child listens to the beauty all around. One with the wilderness, one with the sound. The small and fragile creature kept this song in production until the great golden reds of dusk settled on the swamp and the frogs below croaked their nightly prologue. Crickets slowly tune their legs and join into the midnight lullaby. Fireflies glow across the pastures like candlelight flickering in a far away dream. Frail, glowing white child lies in a ring of risen mushrooms beneath a cedar of many wonders breathing the earth and the trees and the night. Purple veined lids close over tired eyes. Red hair entangles with the roots and the earth and the midnight black. She is one with the night. One with the wilderness and one with the symphony.