a

Monday, October 19, 2009

*** Flora and The Ghost Ball ***



*****A poem and story written a few years back and since at the moment I don't have a clue on how to add links for "you may also like this" I am reprinting the post for this Halloween Season.



Flora

Moss covered trees; they lined the path to either side of me
With limbs outstretched, they touched and formed
An endless canopy in hues of velvet greens
This vacant road, so tenderly adored by these grand oaks
Led me in finding silence sleeping deeply in serenity

Look around; what do I see - flowers strewn and flowers dead
A sea of white on white, grey on grey and black to dark
Of body turned to stone, their words are now half spoken
Craved onto the surface of their sculptured ghostly effigies

Their shadows hide by day, by night they come
If it were night it wouldn’t feel right
But since its day I think its right
For I do see the peacefulness that’s here

Around a bend, some English daisies make my acquaintance
They rise in lively spirit from the dark depths of their grassy bed
This lonely cradle, long forgotten, has cared for them
And they in turn have called upon the sun onto its sunken crest
To warm and kiss its lovely breast

This stone is not alike the rest
It does not bear the name who lies in there
For what sits above the daisy covered knoll
Is but a open book with pages torn adorned in roses pink

To make of what it tells
Is hard when earth and wind and rain
Have washed away its mark, but still I try
For there was once a time
This place was truly theirs’

I bowed down to the earth and took a better look
I read and thought; is this, what’s left?
I could have sworn the words began to speak in whispers on the breeze
I may have thought or did I hear it say “I was”?

I looked away from the book made out of stone
And saw a vision sitting there- afar- with flowers in her hands
I knew the voice I’d heard had come from her
A long time past, she walked the earth
And loved the flowers, that now grow above her tomb





The moss she had treasured so
Now softly dressed the written pages of the book
The years that read were few, her youth cut short
Above the blue faint sky I heard the dawn bird’s song
Ethereal swirls of melodic notes played a choral symphony

A moment passed, the child like girl I’d seen, had gone
The intense beauty of the woodland music now had ended
The bird’s keen senses knew, now dark took over light,
Its ghostly shadow for a moment brushed the mossy tomb
A silence fell and then I heard large rain drops fall unto the granite stone
And like a hidden message written in unseen ink -revealed –
I saw my name, on the wet stone visibly appear.



~ Annabelle ~



The inspiration for this poem came from a visit to a cemetery during a soccer tournament out in Chesterville.I had noticed two tomb stones in the shape of books and instantly fell in love with them. My daughter Emma inspired me with the last paragraph of the poem when she pointed out to me how the dark had taken over the light over the entire farmer’s field on a walk with our dog Grace on the back roads of our home.
Even thou I said I was going back to the cemetery to take pics of the tomb stones I still haven't done so but maybe this coming weekend I may entice the family to go for a jaunt out there and maybe also visit two other cemeteries that I can think of this moment....just so peaceful and always inspiring!







A Haunted tree made just before my son was born.

The Ghost Ball


Walking along the undulating winding path, tall oaks stood on both sides of me. Their limbs touching but barren of their leaves made a dark brown lacey lattice against the cold October sky. The sun barely visible tried to peek through the blank canvas hardly keeping the earth warm. The air was still not a sound could be heard except for the shuffle of the oaks’ dead leafs underfoot and then the silence broke…. Overhead; a group of geese flew towards a warmer home.

Moments earlier I had visited my grandmother’s grave and had left her a posy of flowers for her birthday. Now in peaceful reflection I walked among the solid stones of marble and granite all bearing messages of love lost. I loved coming here. It was a sanctuary for me whenever I came. I could spend hours reading about the dearly departed and found inspiration in the decorative embellishments and inscribed messages of their tombs that told more than just their sad farewells.

A weeping willow on a grave; its branches covered in moss as if in full spring splendor silently shed the tears of loved ones left behind. A heart entwined in ivy; a testament of a strong and binding love. And then I saw a few small graves; one adorned with a little lamb and the other with an angel and puppy dog; they belonged to little children who had left this earth much too soon.

The day was cold and damp and I particularly wanted nothing more than to continue with the nostalgic memories but the cold became uncomforting and I was too cold and miserable to relinquish in this beautiful desolate place yet it was most appropriate for today was Hallows Eve. I hurried my pace still entranced by the scatterings of ghostly white tombs against the stark grey horizon. Suddenly the sun’s pale light touched upon the stone of an opened book, its pages torn; one last faded rose that had dropped from its branch that had hugged the tomb, now lay on the books’ leaf. Beneath the bush upon the torn page corner of the book; a glint of purple green twinkled through. I knelt down and touched the sparkle on the stone book revealing a violet purple amethyst covered in mossy greens. I grabbed the moisten jewel within my hand and quickly hurried back home.

The hearth felt good; my hands numb from the bitter cold and of the wet mossy jewel. I carefully laid the purple stone onto the mantle. It was round and rose shaped like you see in a church window. At a closer glance I noticed it had eight individual petals but they were scarcely noticeable from the moss that filled their voids. At each strut a rhinestone lay. It was truly a beautiful ornament from long, long ago; that it belonged to, would be a mystery.

With the entire hullabaloo that ensued I had completely forgotten that I had to create a witches hat for the ghost ball. Mom had kindly bought a witches hat ahead of time but I had dally too long to decorate it like I had wanted to and now I was in dire need to finish it on time. I gathered up the choice adornments and quickly adding the black spider brooch, the old rhinestone buckle, the large black velvet rose and the garland of small roses; their petals sprinkled with tear drops. Finally I added a touch of black tulle to create a filmy mysterious looking witches hat. There, I was done but something was not quite right. Yes, that’s what it was, a large gapping hole inside the buckle stared right back at me. I needed something for the buckle to frame.

Out of the blue the purple stone flashed a wink across the room. It would be perfect to adorn the witches’ hat with and especially beautiful inside the old rhinestone frame. I clumsily and eagerly tried pinning the flowered stone onto the hat. So stirred in seeing the end results that I pinned myself like I had become a pin cushion. After all the fuss was over, the hat was finally complete. A witch’s gothic hat dream had come true. I loved the look. I was all set for the ball.

Time was flying swiftly and so would this witch if she was to attend the Halloween Ball. I gathered all my costume attire, the cat, cape, boots, broom and bat and got dressed. I was the picture perfect gothic witch right out of the eighteen century. All that was left to do was to crown the costume with the witches’ hat that I had so proudly made. I entered the room which now had a glowing fire burning. The hat, has I had left it was still perched on the candelabra.

Approaching closer to the hearth, the purple stone of the jewel had fused together with the flames of the fire. Now the two were one and a dazzling sparkle danced across the room bouncing fragments of colorful purples and embers onto the crystal vases and glass of the room. The room spinned into a magical realm of a strange and different world distant and unknown to me; and then my eye caught something very strange indeed. Inside the fire in the embers of the flames a book lay open with pages written in old English. As I began to read the words penned in black ink a familiar music erringly faded in. I remembered the piece; it was “The Dance of the Mist”.

Upon the pages of the book was written “I hope to meet with thee again on Hallows Eve one time so I may alight in the “Ghostly Ball”. If you wear the hat and stone upon your head, I will be your companion for just this Hallows Eve and will return once a year upon the same night unless you desire to not make my company.”
Was it all just a dream; too tried and had probably fallen asleep? Wake up, wake up Leathor ; this can’t be real……only it was!
I had no fear but was only both intrigued and in disbelief of the whole affair that just had transpired. I wanted to believe!!!! So I put the witches’ hat upon my head…….

Beyond my glasses stood a young girl with fairies wings. I agitatedly took my glasses off and wiped the film from the lenses. I place them back unto the bridge of my nose and glanced towards where the young girl had stood. There she was, standing quietly and studying me; I now clearly saw she was only just a little girl of no more than twelve years old dressed in the most beautiful translucent gossamer and chiffon, yellow white gown. Her head crowned in daisies. Her whole attire in a sprinkling of fairy’s’ dust and her wings twinkled repeatedly with every flutter.

“Will thou be my friend to accompany to the Ghostly Ball?” My name is Flora and I know who you are she said in a faintly voice. You’re Leathor; I’ve watched you visiting at the Mount. The purple stone belongs to me and I have wished for centuries for someone to find it and pin it on a witch’s hat so that I may have another Ghostly Ball on Hallows Eve with all my dear and darling friends. Please say you’ll come.”

And so the little witch that wished to be a fairy for an eve and I, a witch who truly could make magic with her hat went off to the Ghostly Ball. Who was I to deny such a sweet little girl a Ghostly Ball on Hallows Eve with all her ghoulish, witches and fairy friends? I be a fool to decline the invitation; you’d never know what would come of it if you did.
I never ended up going to the Halloween Ball, in reality Flora and I danced the dance of the mist surrounded by Floras’ dearly departed friends at the Ghostly Ball on this very special Hallows Eve.


*** Spooky Dreaming ***

SPOOKY DREAMING*****Hahahaha!


Happy Hauntings and a Happy Halloween Too!!!
A Witch called Annabelle >^..^<

5 comments:

Sidereal Day said...

Wonderful imagery! I always admire those that can write...not my gift at all.

Renee said...

Oh how I love these stories. The words; hearth, embers, names of olden times that reach and take me out of my life and bring me to the hearth and the embers with you.

Beautifully written.

Renee xoxo

Sandra Van Winkle said...

Great stories! I love your blog. I will come back to visit soon! Thanks for stopping by my little soiree the other evening. We had fun...no? I'm glad you liked the party and the books, etc.
Happy Hauntings my Lovely!

Boozy Tooth said...

Dear Annabelle,

Thank you so much for visiting Casa Hice and leaving such a lovely (and long!) comment regarding my Fanciful Twist Halloween post. It truly made me smile.

My daughter was born on 10/27/90 - just two years before your daughter. That's a pretty fantastic coincidence.

I do so love your blog and need to come back when I can spend some time and really pore over it. And now, I must away and subscribe to your enchanting blog with haste!

Please do come back by Casa Hice when you can. The the door is always open.

Happy Halloween!

LW said...

What a wonderful blog …
I adore you banner,
fantastic work.

I also enjoyed your stories; I must come back and read some of you past post.
I did read the post about the Good Witch, this movie looks enchanting. I don’t get the
Hallmark channel so perhaps there is a DVD that I can find…

I will be back to take another look at all that is here…


Louise

MIDNIGHT MARGARITAS

MIDNIGHT MARGARITAS
A place for keeping my art in larger formats

*** Sir Arthur Conan Doyle ***

*** Sir Arthur Conan Doyle ***
“Where there is no imagination there is no horror”. Arthur Conan Doyle, Sr.

*** Sir Christopher Lee ***

*** Sir Christopher Lee ***
“There are many vampires in the world today - you only have to think of the film business”

* ~ Spirit of the Night ~

* ~ Spirit of the Night ~
Soon it will be Hallows Eve...Time to create Art from the Dark Side ***Annabelle

~ Turn of the Screw ~

~ Turn of the Screw ~
A Flickr mosaic I made some time ago ~ Annabelle

WE WERE SOLDIERS

WE WERE SOLDIERS
~ Annabelle

Twilight at Sea


The Twilight Hours like birds flew by,
As lightly and as free;
Ten thousand stars were in the sky,
Ten Thousand on the sea;
For every wave with dimpled face,
That leaped upon the air,
Had caught a star in its embrace,
And held it trembling there.

Amelia Coppuck Welby

Total Pageviews

COPYRIGHT

All graphics, text and design:
copyright Anna Belanger - Annabelle


Note: If you personally hold copyright to any images or other content herein and wish it to be removed or credited, please email me and I'm more than happy to do so.