Moonwind—The Faerie King
We all have secret identities—
the question is, how interesting can we be with them?
I lie in my cave, eyes closed,
a smile chiseled on my face.
She doesn’t know, after
two bottles of wine,
that I am hearing the call
of the Wild.
She asks timidly,
“What’s wrong with you tonight?”
Make love to me under the moon!
“You’ve had too much wine.”
She derides—
“There are bugs, and it’s after one!”
Her counter of sleep is rejected.
I rise— I’m going for a walk!
“No, no, it’s dark!
The woods look foreboding…”
Bah! I exclaim. The moon
isn’t full, the wolves,
real and were,
are all slumbering—
as good folk should
at this happy hour.
Come with me!
To Tanglewood Vineyard—
let us love between grapevines
as we did in Italy.
But my lust alone
cannot rouse her.
So I leave our den
and slip into the woods.
Here in the dark tunnel of the forest
I change, I transform.
I peel away my person
And become Moonwind,
Revealing my nature as wood nymph.
I bound from the trees into the hillside,
skin pale, hair grown long,
flowing gold beneath the moon.
I whirl among the vines.
The deer, who came to nibble
the luscious clusters, startle—
but they see I too am
a child of the forest.
Together we gorge,
pressing the plump purple fruits
to our mouths, juice dark and sweet,
running down my chest,
coating me from neck to nakedness.
Giggles shimmer—my brethren appear,
nymphs weaving with fireflies
in a playful dance
between the rows.
I approach and receive the crown
I had forgotten was mine,
and lead them in laughter,
wine, and whirling among the branches.
The revelry lasts until we are spent
and sweaty from the joy and merrymaking.
Just in time as dawn's golden light swells,
birds stir from slumber,
and my companions dissolve into mist.
I bid them farewell,
embrace the deer
who vanish into cover
to await tomorrow’s raid.
In the forest tunnel I find
my human costume,
emerging stained purple,
branded with an unforgettable night.
But my tale is too wild for her
who slumbered through
my moonlit hours.
She insists I simply passed to sleep
amid the rows of Muscadine and Summer.
No! The stubble in my hair
is from the crown I wore—
Faerie King,
their leader and liege.
Yet her eyes roll,
and she asks:
“Scrambled, or fried?”
#essay #memoir #journal #osxs #100daystooffset #writing #story #fantasy
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