Okay, so I know that I promised stories, and I do have some to post, but I also wrote some poetry while I was gone and I really wanted to share it with you all and get your opinions before I forgot about them. So, next week there will be stories, I promise... and I mean it... :)
BROKEN
The wind sweeps back and forth
Bending the trees with its force
Sending the branches
On its planned course
Breaking them as it move
Yet still it proves
To be beautiful
Why does a gale rush past
like thoughts in my mind,
or a freight train
running through the dusk and the dawn?
The next morning was spent attending services at the gorgeous Havenwing cathedral, after which we returned home and were joined for lunch by a few of Uncle Oruc and Aunt Monria's friends.
Even that 'casual' gathering made me nervous with its pomp and opulence, but I hoped it might prepare me for my first Havenwing ball, which Aunt Monria had informed me the day before, was taking place in three weeks' time.
After the scrumptious breakfast of scones and sausage that Aunt Monria served me, my first order of business was to return to my room and write a letter to my parents, informing them of my safe arrival. I then had the rest of the day to myself, and decided to spend it familiarizing myself with my new home city. Donning a thick shawl to keep off the chill, I left the mansion and walked across the grounds and out the gate into the town of Havenwing. It was market day, Aunt Monria had told me, which promised more excitement in addition to the pure enjoyment of exploration.
They call it 'otherworldly'--
the nectar-colored sky
behind the blackened front
of the approaching summer storm...
the sunlight and the rain that come at once,
dripping gold...
the sighing of the wind among
the youngest of the trees...
the stirring of the lake
beneath the water lilies...
'Otherworldly'.
I laugh at them--
at the narrow minds
that speak of other worlds but cannot grasp
the wonders of their own,
who cannot fathom sun and rain at once...
or a nectar-colored sky.
Bitter wind was tugging at Adelaide’s hood and lashing her hair round her face. She was sitting in front of Lawrence on a grey warmblood. He was plunging through the deep drifts of snow at a great pace and smoothly passing over rifts and inclines of the land. Lawrence had both hands on the reigns while supporting Adelaide by his arms. The saddle on which they sat was large and made of fine leather. It was black and simple but strongly made. Adelaide had both her feet secured to the stirrups by straps that Cosmas had attached.
muddy boots, thoughts of rain,
air, air,
chilly morning in haze
red barn door contrasting
murmur of anxious nickers asking
you caress,
brown eyes and hooves
saddle and reins tighten,
awaiting, awaiting,
the racing of two
girth groans the saddle creaks
you feel,
the wish with happiness
the urge of the wind says
come, come,
it beckons and lifts you up
invisible hands that reach beneath
your arms and wrap around you