the Governor of Lake Land And the Duchess of Wales ( The Wedding of the Elves) rev.14

The Procession:

 “In order to get in you have to get out; in order to get out, you have to get in”,

chanted the chorus of fireflies swooping through a darkening sky

dressed as ceremonial monks, seeking each other by light.

 I am moss grown on the North side of this Oak,

 leaning with invitation, towards that sound and sight.

Released from the shadow into the glow of life

we both shall rise.

 So as this tree, so as will I.

The ceremony:

Introduced into yellow candle light, visible in the glow,

Embracing the heat, they skip through the orange of a burning wick.

Flickering light in rhythm with the flame, making shadows that mirror each other

In the magical reflection of make-believe and melting lollies.

 

The bride and groom burned the floor they danced on.

Softening the wax into a glistening pool of history;

Consuming each other into a golden ring.

 

Darkness fell in the clearing.

The bride and groom completely embraced,

Each struck a match

Having gone beyond chance and cinders,

In the glow of their “now-forever” dance.

The Celebration:

 

Early spring rain drifting, shifting,

Collecting before sunrise,

Melts winter on a window’s darkened pane.

Gray clouds, low to the ground,

Shrouds a New Hampshire’s wood stove smoke,

Exhaling its last chord in crackling sound.

 

Approaching southern winds

And warm fireside thoughts embrace the Governor of Lake Land

And the Duchess of Wales.

Cradling a magical elf in a blanket of down,

A waking new-born with smiling eyes

Is gently moved from arms to arms.

 

They relight the candle;

Invite the monks (the fireflies),

And the moss, earlier described.