a string of Precious

July 9, 2009 at 9:56 am (Caledon, celebrations, original poetry/prose, the Muse sings, Truth Stranger than Fiction)

… then something falls into place, and this inner alignment just clicks.  Love and chemistry, heart and spirit and mind.  Click.  And so the path is opened…

Looking up into the great old spiderwebbed tree, you can see that the house lights are ablaze.  Every gas lamp pulses with flame, and every window shows candles dancing to music you cannot hear, not from down here.  The great wooden treehouse might seem in peril of burning, were it not so thoroughly soaked by the rain.

The Lady of the house and of this land has moved from room to room sparking this light.  A shift of the wind brings you the purifying scent of burning sage.

She is alone now, but something indescribable in her bearing makes it seem she expects not to remain so for long.

If you climbed the steps up to the door and looked inside, you would see her dressed in a simple flowing white gown, and smiling to herself in clear-eyed contentment.  But something silent tells you not to, so you don’t.

After some time, she steps out to the balcony holding a dark glass bowl.  Leaning out a little over the edge, she takes silk thread and a needle, and a bowl full of smooth white pearls: freshwater moonlight, each gleaming and unique.  With a careful knot between each one, she threads the pearls into a precious string: delicate but strong, silk of spinner and pearl of nurturer.

The great swollen moon glides across the dark sky… stately, effortless.

The Lady’s long string of pearls trembles all the way from her fingers to just over the waters of the firth, a long way below, as she ties more and more gleaming gems of nacre onto it.

Another twitch and twist, and the end of the thread drops down and touches the water, which rushes up it, as if longing to reclaim the oysters’ treasure. Then the leading pearl drops in as another is added to the top… and the long string now links the Lady to the waters.

She goes on threading, tying, spinning, for much of the night. Her deft fingers only ever pause to brush strands of twilight hair from her eyes, and once, across the silver locket at her throat.

The bowl at her side is deep with pearls. She will not be finished creating this for some time…



  1. Autopilotpatty Poppy said,

    This woman smiles, joining this lady of the pearls in her vision of her string of pearls…
    How beautiful these written words. thank you for sharing………………

    • DarklingRose said,

      ~smiling warmly~ Thankyeh, lady. Thankyeh for enjoying.

  2. Autopilotpatty Poppy said,

    very much my pleasure, lady of the pearls…:)

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