A Faerie’s Whim

Loquisha waved her wand and pulled its tip from Summer into Fall.  The tall grasses, dry with the sun and sweeping in the newly crisp wind, seemed to bulge forth in a golden mountain.  A face burst into glorious bloom, all whiskers, fur and magnificence.  A shaggy mane shook leaves fluttering into the air showering the scarlet, ash, russet and ochre into the newborn season.  The faerie stood boldly in the presence of the rising lion.

Watercolor by Marcia Tuttle

“ Good season, Garmonsion,” Loqisha unfurled from her tongue in a low booming tone, “Your time has come to wake and lead us from Summer through the luscious languor and wistful chill of Autumn.  Do you stand at your summons from our kingdom or would you sleep into oblivion?”

“ROOOOAR!!!” Garmonsion shook the air with his reply.  His great paws lifted, claws bared into the breeze, as he stood on his haunches before leaping forward to charge across the field into the distance.”

A trilling laugh broke the stillness left behind him, introducing the arrival of Sister.

“ Bromillia, my dear,” Loquisha began nervously, “it is so marvelous to…”

“Yes, yes,” Bromillia interrupted in a voice high and piercing as a piccolo, “I suppose you think your drama quite dignified and enchanting.  Who gave to you the rites to the Changing of the Season.  You must be charmed to have escaped unscathed.  He could have dashed you to pieces!”  She broke once again into her giggle like a passing parade of a thousand bells.

Loquisha was quite deflated.  She threw herself down on the brittle grasses, her lovely rose skirts soiled by bug spit and popping seeds.

“I only wanted the heat to end.”  She complained, “this endless sweating was ruining my satin silkies.”

Bromillia rolled her eyes and disappeared in a tiny star-like flash.  She appeared again pushed along through the sky on the rising wind only inches from Garmonsion’s flowing mane.

“GARMONSION!!!!” rumbled the air on the open plain—her tiny voice magnified to shake even his storming enormity.

He slowed and padded to a sinewy stop.  He paced purposefully, standing at each point of the compass and staring into the distance to see what or who had called his name.

“Sleep….” cooed from Bromillia’s lovely throat.

With a wave of her wand, Garmonsion rolled to his side and disappeared into the Summer grass along with the cold wind.

by Sheri J. Kennedy  Published with Permission

From Literary Journal, Fall Into Story edited by Casondra Brewster

Image by artist, Marcia Tuttle also appears in Fall Into Story – used for promotional purposes with permission.


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