The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post - The Green Dragon Inn #11

Fairleaf · 01-07-2005, 11:09 PM

Cheeks as red as rowans are
Bright her eyes as any star,
Fairest o' them all by far
Is our darlin' Zimzi.

Fairleaf’s branches swayed in time to the merry music as she watched the group of fellows singing to someone. From her vantage point she could see the expressions on the singers and players faces, but not that of the one they sang to. She must be pretty though . . . with her cheeks red as the berries of the rowan tree. Fairleaf’s leaves rustled at the thought of an old friend, in the foothills of the Misty Mountains . . . she was a fair, slender rowan, and against the white snows of winter, her last wizened berries heralded the promise of returning spring.

Bright her eyes as any star . . . Fairleaf inched slowly through the little line of trees that lined the edge of the yard. Just a wee bit more and she would see the one they sang to.

Zimzi . . . that must be her name. Fairleaf had the window now in view. But the song had ended and the young men had bowed, dispersing as they picked up the flowers that had fallen at their feet. The one for whom they played had withdrawn, moving back into the shadows. Later she thought . . . surely I will see her later.

The scent of something quite pleasant wafted up from a tub just a little ways away from her. Three wrinkled, grey-crowned creatures with sparkling eyes and easy laughs held sway over the liquid contents of the rub, doling it out in small portions to those who waited so patiently, laughing, too.

Later, too, thought Fairleaf, I believe I’ll have a drop of that draught the old ones have brewed . . .

01-07-2005, 11:09 PM	#1217
Fairleaf Animated Skeleton Join Date: Dec 2004 Location: Piping in Brethil . . . Posts: 36	Cheeks as red as rowans are Bright her eyes as any star, Fairest o' them all by far Is our darlin' Zimzi. Fairleaf’s branches swayed in time to the merry music as she watched the group of fellows singing to someone. From her vantage point she could see the expressions on the singers and players faces, but not that of the one they sang to. She must be pretty though . . . with her cheeks red as the berries of the rowan tree. Fairleaf’s leaves rustled at the thought of an old friend, in the foothills of the Misty Mountains . . . she was a fair, slender rowan, and against the white snows of winter, her last wizened berries heralded the promise of returning spring. Bright her eyes as any star . . . Fairleaf inched slowly through the little line of trees that lined the edge of the yard. Just a wee bit more and she would see the one they sang to. Zimzi . . . that must be her name. Fairleaf had the window now in view. But the song had ended and the young men had bowed, dispersing as they picked up the flowers that had fallen at their feet. The one for whom they played had withdrawn, moving back into the shadows. Later she thought . . . surely I will see her later. The scent of something quite pleasant wafted up from a tub just a little ways away from her. Three wrinkled, grey-crowned creatures with sparkling eyes and easy laughs held sway over the liquid contents of the rub, doling it out in small portions to those who waited so patiently, laughing, too. Later, too, thought Fairleaf, I believe I’ll have a drop of that draught the old ones have brewed . . . __________________ When Summer warms the hanging fruit and burns the berry brown/When straw is gold, and ear is white, and harvest comes to town/When honey spills, and apple swells, though wind be in the West/I'll linger here beneath the Sun, because my land is best!