The Princess of Twilight

The Princess of Twilight gathers a handful of rose petals, candleglow on lace curtains, and the luster of old pearls.  She walks through the meadow, the whispering darkness following softly behind her, a rustling tafetta train of shadows. 

Then crickets start to sing and a peeper’s chorus of frogs begins.  Hoot owls call.  One by one, stars appear.  Peace gently washes over the hills.  Wrapped in the dark soft blanket of night, the countryside rests.  Now magic can begin.  Pixies slip out from behind the ivy leaves to dance in the silvery stardust.  The Princess of Twilight smiles, waves her hand and blesses the fairies in their ring.  She gathers the deep stillness around her shoulders, snugs it close like a traveling cloak, and drifts off to sleep.  

Tommorrow she will weave her spell of beauty once more, and gently pull the day to an end, tugging the drawstrings of her silken purse.

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