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Tag Archives: wildlings
Sometimes it’s all they wear, these wayward princesses basking in the sun; not the Risky Business “future’s so bright” kind, but the way the tree slants just right kind, for leafy shadow tattoos. They choose the warmest part of day and make their me-andered way to forest floor … Continue reading
They drink from stream and lake and oak-leaf dewand brew their tea from waterfall fountain. There’s a banquet of snacksand a welcome knack for napping and every hour’s happy now because their feet are bare and there’s no one to stare and the chores are shared and nobody’s … Continue reading
The princesses are at it again with their grins and their gin and their tutu spin. They’ve all been given second chances and seconds of cake. They’ve long shed their corsets and their crowns and their pumps and their frowns and the promises of being “saved” and decided to gambol with … Continue reading
There is laughter when they think of all they were supposed to be, all corseted and silver-spoon fed with feet crammed into ridiculous shoes. Here, even the steeds are unshod and trail-trod, mudlucious in their gorgeous freedom. This forest is flush with both silence and song. Here, they choose. … Continue reading
Somebody said good -bye, and there will be no more poems. But these sassy chicas have bared their feet and souls and are ready to throw a moon rave again. Anybody got a magic (wand) pen? ::May Day! May Day! No prompt. All play.
There’s a pile of pumps at the peaceful passage leading to Wildling Wood. They’ve kicked (off) up their heels and wielded their swords and let all that hair (golden and otherwise)down and traded their pointy crowns for flowers. Now, they spend hours bare-foot loose and fancy -free, having also … Continue reading
It’s easy, here in Wildling Wood,where the moon casts her nightly spell. She tells the sky just how to brew and spill its starry secrets. The flowers bow and curtsy to the passing breeze, a whimsy’d waltz. Dragons dance with nymphsand every soul gets a second … Continue reading
Here, they’re barefoot and barefaced and the only crowns they wear are daisy-chained. They’re stained in wild berries and luscious mud and maple syrup. They’re warriors of whimsy, wildlings writing their own stories withsticky fingers and hearts finally given a chance. The night sky’s their only gownand they’ve doubled down … Continue reading
It’s happy (ever after) hour in the forest of the wayward princess wildlings. They’ve been shaken by trees, and stirred by breeze, and they’re ready for another round of pixie pickup sticks. The river’s flowing fineand so’s the blackberry wine, and they’ll share if you dare to shed your crown and stick around. … Continue reading