pixies

June 4, 2007 12:00AM

Herds of cantankerous clouds continue their brewing splurge.
A chill rides up my thigh to my arm to my fingertips.
Appendages tingle. I shiver at the window and watch as
the tides of mist fume and percolate upon the surface of
this mountain lake, slowly roiling across with listless
determination. The forest gurgles patiently. Furry things
lie deeply burrowed and bundled.

Wisp and a willow, cresting angel morning, the pixies begin
their flitting ritual not on some hallowed Midsummer night
alignment. Not on some sacred ancient holiday. No, their
light begins to link and chime amongst the forest limbs at
the break of Brunch. Waffles and strawberries high up in
the treetops.

Umbrellas from leaves, I can only see a faint glow from
where I sit breathing mist onto the panes. It’s the kind
of light that cascades easily, though, and I continue to
watch it breathe and quiver amidst the pouring. I sit
still, shivering and envious.