Lemurian City of Ladies

The Bard a-lure-ing

Posted in Gypsy Caravan by aletta mes on September 6th, 2006

The Gypsy camp was relatively quiet, with small children at nap or breast – chores completed and supper thoughts but a whisper. Lazy smoke from untended fires had replaced the lingering mists of dawn, and somewhere a faint mandolin teased the birds. It was a time for ‘wool gathering’, as they say – scarcely a moment for an encounter. Thus the stranger stood perhaps too long by the stream before being noticed.

I was instantly alert – wary, disturbed more by the fact that no forest friends had given alarm through silence, than by the half-seen figure. Tall or nay, lean or stout? This I could not discern from squint defying bands of golden light and shifting shadows of swaying firs. A leap – a prance – a fair drifting of form, and I had a better view, as if in response to my thought. An ancient song came to mind.

A cloak of simple rough homespun, and breeches of brown doe-skin,
Tied at the waste with no buckle: shoes laced up to the thigh!
For music a harp was brandished,
Lyrics from nature called,
To be playing on the wander, under the laughing sky.

I strained to define features beneath the “trav’ler’s hood” of mossy green, but caught only a glimpse of smoldering eyes. A melodic whisper echoed in my soul – not of fear or foreboding, but of forgotten joy. “I have been charged to bring this to you.” That and nothing more. A sheepskin scroll snapped against the frozen silence, to then soften and settle slowly to the grass. Old Grenben stepped forth and read the words out loud – by calling or command I do not know. Scripted in the finest hand the letters proclaimed –

THE WAY OF THE LIVING BARD

by these attributes shall thee be known

Honor, Integrity, Valor, Loyalty,
Wisdom, Strength and Humor
but always caress
Respect as the bonding element

********

The space above the stump upon which the stranger had spoken
now danced with thistle-down and memories of fireflies.
My child asked, “Mother, was that a faerie or a wizard?”
I had no answer, but held her high to see the glowing words at our feet.

“Mother, was that a man or a woman?”

This I could answer, “Child – I never thought to ask.”

and the mandolin whispered once more as we sang:

The bard strummed a note and stirred a silent spring.
It touched my heart and I began to sing,
To free the music deep in everything.
Now all the earth with its secret melody
Has meaning for me forever.

…………………………………………………………

faucon of Sakin’el

5 Responses to 'The Bard a-lure-ing'

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  1. cronelogical said, on September 7th, 2006 at 12:55 am

    I found this lovely, thank you for being a bard. Fran

  2. Heather Blakey said, on September 7th, 2006 at 8:09 am

    You will always be the bard of Soul Food faucon. This is utterly charming and soothing.

  3. traveller2006 said, on September 7th, 2006 at 8:13 am

    teller of bewitching tales and singer of songs - thank you

  4. gailkav said, on September 7th, 2006 at 9:58 am

    The camp sings again for faucon has set foot here and brought his tales.

  5. jan2 said, on September 9th, 2006 at 2:24 am

    Nice one - your style slips easily into this setting.

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