BEAR DANCE

lumbering shadow passes through woman's dreams

pausing, feeds on insects in the corners

and swats the bees as he scratches his symbol

in her wild honey

in the sweet dripping communion of the night

she embraces his untamed world

moving with him on his foray into the darkness

beyond the crossroads

he has passed this way many times

avoiding the snares and thorns that grab at her breath

they do not touch him and watching carefully

she pads between the worlds, painting a new trail

with her spirit walk.

- M.D. Gray Copyright 1996

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WITCH

Alone in her lodge she dances

beating out an age old rhythm

handed down from her grandmothers

who sing with the stars.

Her voice also cries aloud

merging, filling the circle

with the toning of ten thousand thousand

women who have opened their arms

their throats in prayer.

She can move through shadows of fire

her body mirroring the primal pattern

throbbing with the rattles

breathing with the drums.

Touching, she is untouched

changing, she is unchanged

knowing, she is unknown

circling, singing, measuring out

the ageless spiral of the night.

- M.D. Gray  Copyright 1996

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A VARIATION OF A ROOM WITH A VIEW short story (fantasy)

by M.D. Gray Copyright 1997

To the Reader: this short story came about as a result of a writing assignment given to me. I was assigned the opening and ending sentences, and had to fill in the middle. I hope you enjoy it...

 A beginning is a time for ensuring that foundations are laid properly. Take the selection of furnishings for a new home as an example.

I was preparing for a very special person to come and live with me, and to this end I began a quest for the most elegant, alluring, and comforting surroundings possible. Although I had never met her, everything that I could dream that my new friend might desire was carefully provided and placed so that her slightest desire might be answered before it was voiced.

She likes sparkling gems, so a bracelet of amethyst and moonstones was draped across a wide ribbon of black velvet. She enjoys rubbing her cheek across soft things, so I added wispy scraps of a rose pink silk scarf. To satisfy her fondness for growing things, a tiny twisting green spot of ivy went into the mix. Of course she must have a stunning view of the outside world, so there is plenty of transparent glass for her to press her pixiesque nose against. Serendipitously, I also located a miniature mirror to place near the entrance, so that she would be able to preen herself whenever she wished.

The only problem I had now was to provide fresh water for her. Fairies need that, preferably rain water. It was going to be difficult. I found a small shell that just fit into the bottom of the jar. Water would have to be added on a daily basis, and I supposed that she would just have to accustom herself to the taste and smell of chlorine. One does hate to do such a thing to an elemental creature. I was able to locate a box of paper straws at a market across town, so at least she wouldn't be vexed by having to endure plastic in her new jar. I mean, her new home. I punched several holes in the lid, for breathing purposes, you know, and one hole large enough for the straw to be inserted through so that water could be poured into the shell. Not the prettiest solution, but it would do.

There are two days each year, traditionally, when fairies move. One of those happy days comes at the end of April, which was fast approaching. I had for the past six months watched, without undue outward sign of interest, the deva activity in an old oak tree located on the edge of a riverbank near my home. It was filled with fairies; I anticipated that on the moving day in question, I should have no trouble apprehending one of that group in the general confusion that always surrounds the removal of a household from one place to another. All I needed was a lure.

In my mother's old keepsake box was a large white lace handkerchief. The design was intricate; someone with a great talent for tatting had created it. Just the thing to ensnare a fairy child, I was sure. I secured enough thread to twine through the lace so that it would close up tight at the right time, like a drawstring pouch, and in the very middle of the lace, I sewed a tiny silver bell.

The appointed day came. I took my fairyland jar with its wonderful contents and my snare of lace and journeyed stealthily to the oak tree. There is a lilac bush close by the tree and this is where I hung my net of lace, hiding behind the bush so that the fairies might not see me.

A fine spring breeze was blowing low. It caught the silver bell in its grasp, and the delicate thing rang with a high pure note that was indeed entrancing. I did not have to wait long.

The lovely sound caught the interest of one pudgy fairy child who came rushing over, tiny wings all aflap with curiosity. No larger than an inch, she fluttered scant millimeters from the bell, her small mouth curved upward with delight.

I pulled the drawstring tightly; the lace snare closed gently around her. Other fairies buzzed angrily about my head, following me all the way home like a crowd of offended bees. I did not dare stop to put my prize in the jar.

Once at home, safely behind the door so that the other elemental creatures could no longer sting and pinch me, I removed the jar lid and placed the lace trap inside it.

She fussed pitifully, in a thin little whine, and continued to cling to the lace, voicing her dislike of the jar which henceforth would be her home. I was at a loss. I must get her off the lace and into the jar so that I could screw the lid down. I could not open the net just yet, for she might fly out and away.

Suddenly the doll-like mirror at the bottom of the jar caught my eye. I angled the lace so that the fairy child could see the mirror.

Children are so easy. She saw her own face reflected in the mirror and suddenly her struggling ceased. One miniature hand reached out to caress the glass through the delicate white lace that imprisoned her.

The sweet little mite must have thought it was another fairy in the jar who had come to save her. She smiled at her reflection.

I waited, breathlessly holding the drawstrings of the lace net, for the right moment. It came in the space of a heartbeat, as she addressed the creature in the looking glass.

"I knew you'd come," she said, and the lacy trap tightened.