Winter's Choir in Summer's End

Out on the open moors of late English summer set, the skies reflected the glow of the pasture lake. The soft treble of the rolling waves crept south along the pushing hands of the northern winds. Trembling groans of summer weary branches echoed down along the crest of each wave, sending pummels of sound to the sleeping maiden on the shore. Rustling leaves in each breath of airy plume, reverberated back into the eyes of the maiden fair. Gloried thread of sun-spun hair capered in dancing joy, sleeping eyes fluttering to imagined dreams behind the lids, and echo yet the moans of fleeing summer time. Amber waters from muddy foam leave tinsel sand on bedded rock banks, and maiden feet touch silken water in intermittent envelopments. The winter choirs test their chords on vibrating clouds of shadow morn. Starry tapestry of languid sights, sparkle lightly on smooth breeze swept skin. The maiden wakes, her eyes a glimmer of the sparkled stars, and burning moon, lake reflection, and Fay emition. Roaming stars of faery dust sway to the tested voices of winter’s lament. Summer scars on frozen land rise up their icy fists in splendor joy, and faery voices fill the night. The maiden, her trembling hand capturing stray hair in her fingers, looks around in wonder monument. The moon crackled air, a charge of joyous rapture. The maiden’s eyes alight in pleasure, as she takes inside her vision the dance of stars, land-bound by Pan’s request for remembrance of his starry home. Down swept from the great void beyond the capsule of earthen design, the faery homes long since left to honor Pan’s summons still light the way to home from lanterns left by the voyaged faeries. Those earth-bound stars, wings a shimmer, body glowing, dancing fair in moonlit air, void-bound stars reflecting off their sparkled skin, all sway to music from north-swept winter air. The Maiden, now entranced in the stunning capture of Winter’s mourn, for long hours stared into the shore, the sparkled night of winter’s choir. Little noticed, though now remembered, as intruding sunlight breaks the cold of onset winter, the music fading from burning rays, clouds melting to vaporous designs, the Maiden looks around, a hand to temple, seeing once again, down hallowed halls of sweet memory, the dance of faeries, the winter moon, clouds redoubling in citadels and altars to frozen leaders, and the winds of northern spirit born, echoing all, the music, the dance, of Winter’s Choir.
The maiden’s eyes, alight in distant dreams of last night’s fervor, returns to home, her castle retreat. There she sighs in the warm grips of summer’s last flight, and pines for vibrant shadow morn, her matron of joyous lament, and charged beauty found, in ages swept of faery stars, and glorious fled Pan, Winter’s sorrow lament, and the trembling timbre of his Choir.