Still, after cloud torrents gouge the land,
Serene fruit blossoms as the silver light of the
Holy Moon caresses the shadows of the hollow way.
Honey toadstools glow on a root
That clasps the cleft wall while
Oysters wrap bark in foxfire and
Tendrils glitter with beads of damp under
Whispers that sough in the leaves.

A gargoyle knot glares at the flutter 
Of faerie wings, lip curled in a sneer.
Wings flicker and dodge basilisk contempt,
Wisk aloft iridescent spores that spray 
Over moist mushroom cups and lichen coils.

Ramparts of the sunken road line with eidolons,
Woad masks spread in silent howls that hum with
The trill of whistles from raven bones, the joyous 
Toot of horns, drums that pulse raucous delight.

A spalted owl hoots from the crotch
Of a spectral elm, dead fingers scratch
At the eyes of the Old Man in the Moon.
A weary sage shivers his lion’s mane
As the messenger flits between roots and boughs,
Twirls wing to wing with a brown bat
Before the gate to the faerie ring.

Ethereal mist bubbles from cool water 
And glides over the ancient trail to 
Join the spiral of bat and faerie.
The kindred gyre through the gate of the 
Raised ring and round ravine to swirl 
Above the leaning crystal bouquet, call the 
Energy of the ley, beckon the labyrinth of
Buttons to rise and set the stone slump 
Straight, seal the seam rent in the land.
Caps froth and surge under the menhir
Posy that scrolls thanks to the heavens,
Shift soil and flint heads to suture a slash.
The faerie smiles from the caul of a flower, her
Weary soulmates drift drained on the wind.

[LL Hill writes: Currently resident in northern Canada, writing is a hobby competing with photography and planting wildflowers for my spare time. A new novel is available on Amazon and features Laura’s interest in crystals, ley lines, and a scientific approach to the paranormal.]