In my vocal class last week we chose the second song for our performances out of our textbook. The one that stood out to me was cited as being written by George Macdonald. I assumed it wasn't the Scottish minister/author that I know and love, but after a little research it turned out to be a poem of his that was set to music somewhere around 1950. As part of our homework we have to write a story about the song and so this tale was born. I wrote it hoping to catch even a little bit of the essence of G.M.'s stories. Enjoy!
Alas, how easily things go wrong!
A sigh too much, or a kiss too long,
And there follows a mist and a weeping rain,
And life is never the same again.
And yet, how easily things go right!
If the sigh and a kiss of a summer's night
Come deep from the soul in the stronger ray
that is born in the light of the winter's day.
And things can never go badly wrong!
If the heart be true and the love be strong,
For the mist, if it comes, and the weeping rain,
will be changed by the love into sunshine again.
- G.M.
It was a bright night, even for the forest. The trees glowed with a internal luminescence. A young man had taken to walking here every night and could notice even the slightest changes on his path. Along with the light, there was an uncommon scent of honeysuckle and sage. Cresting the ridge of a shallow glen his eyes fell upon the source. A woman in shining, pale green robes sat on a large rock in the valley. Her eyes were the same shining green as her clothes and her hair fell softly about her shoulders in soft brown ringlets. He was taken at once. Love seized his heart and he ran and seized her. She didn't resist. She didn't react at all. He spoke love to her. Nothing. He kissed her hand, her cheek. Nothing. He wrapped his arms tight around her, smelled her sweet honey hair, and when his eyes opened there was nothing in his arms save a mist that had sunk from about the trees. He looked everywhere but found no trace of his lady, and as he began to weep so came the rain.
Two years passed. Still, every night he walked and while he no longer hoped to find her, he thought of her often. He thought of how he rushed to her and grabbed her. He thought of how he had abandoned courtesy in the name of love. He thought of how something called love and acted on with greed is not really love. The leaves fell, and winter fell, and as he walked in the frozen forest, he began to learn a true way to love.
Mid April, as the glowing tress had begun to bud little lightning bug leaves and the clouds hung heavy with rain, he walked again. He rarely thought about that beautiful woman anymore and his thoughts were mostly on a poem he had read earlier in the day. It promised hope to a true heart and he hoped his heart was true. He noticed something as he came to the ridge of the glen, but it was not his lady. It was a she-wolf scratching fiercely at her back paw that had gotten wedged between the boulder and a tree. She lunged away when she saw him and panicked when her paw became even tighter between stone and tree. His curiosity had just made her situation worse and he couldn't bear the thought of her slowly starving to death, or resorting to maiming her leg to free herself. In obligation and trepidation he approached. He got close enough to throw his thick coat over her head and tried not to think about what would happen when she was free. He wrapped his legs around her back to still her, and with much effort and scratching and loss of blood (on his part) pulled her loose. He jumped away and sitting up from under his coat was not the wolf but the woman, and now, instead of a face void of reaction she smiled, leaned forward with eyes like sunshine and kissed him.
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