dontravis.com blog post #554
Image courtesy of dreamstime.com
This week, we start a different kind of journey. Hope you’ll stick with me for it. Here goes.
I TOOK A ROAD AND CHANCED UPON A FAIRY
I often trekked to Stockcroft to trade my wares and had done so since before my parents became Blessed Angels in the Good Lord’s heaven. My ma had always insisted I take the main road ’stead of the path through the wood. Being a lad, and later a young man, I was often tempted to defy her instructions, but she always mumbled and made the sign of the cross when she gave these instructions, so I curbed my curiosity and went to the village by way of the cobble-stoned roadway. There were usually others afoot on the highway, so the walk—though long—was often pleasant. My wood carvings usually excited conversations, and often I made my first and possibly second sale long ere reaching Stockcroft.
Two of my creations, I held to myself, generally out of sight of my dam and sire. But, alas, they were no longer in the cottage, so I boldly exhibited the carvings on the mantlepiece these days. One was an image of a fetching youth passing into manhood, with a cute nose, brown eyes, smiling lips, and curly locks falling over his smooth forehead. Somehow his narrow waist and slightly flaring hips drew my fingers to them, as did the slight bulge at the groin. I’d immediately snatch my hand away and look to see if I’d been caught out. But there was no one to scold me these days.
The other piece sharing the mantlepiece with the youth was a fair young maiden of similar years. Her nose was likewise pert, but her eyes were stained blue, and her hair draped her shoulders and rested upon a pleasing bosom. Just as often, my guilty fingers would touch that full breast and explore her broad, inviting hips.
Nary a six-month had passed ere my dam’s warnings about this or that or the other began to fade, along with her proscription of the forest track. So one day, I forgot her warnings and found myself on the way to Stockcroft via the forbidden trace. It was not long before I rued my choice. The trees closed in upon me before I accomplished a quarter of a league of my trek. My steps faltered, yet I placed one foot in front of the other upon spotting what appeared to be a sun-drenched clearing ahead.
My steps faltered as I discerned a figure in the midst of the clearing, but curiosity drew me onward until I saw it was a fairy. She was fair and fully as tall as I, yet there was no doubt in my mind she was a fairy. Lo, she was the embodiment of my figurine, right down to golden hair and eyes as blue as the sky.
As I drew near, her luscious, pouty lips broke into a smile and she spoke, her voice a clear crystal bell. “For the price of a song, I’ll grant you a wish.”
“I know not what to wish for.”
“Aye I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“What sort of song?”
“Whatever your heart desires.”
The church gospel I’d been mulling suddenly no longer seemed appropriate, so I chose a sea ditty, cleaning up the words somewhat. Although I’m no music hall tenor, I can carry a tune. When I finished, she clapped her hands and laughed.
“Wonderful. And now what would you like?”
I am certain I blushed at my answer. “You”
“And have me, you shall.”
The fairy was as good as her word, and I arrived late at Stockcroft on uncertain legs. And even though I plopped on the church steps unable to muster the energy to move, I sold all my carvings and caught a wagon ride home with a neighbor who lived a league beyond my cottage