blue green, fuchsia, olive The girl who went over the hills, who talks about dragons, was a shepherd's daughter. Her father had been angry to see her go that night, though he knew her stubbornness had once been his own. He was still at the door putting on his good boots when he caught a glimpse of her, far off across the hayfields, when the dwindling evening light momentarily touched the top of the hill where she had stopped. He saw her turn to look back at him, at the little stone house with the warm flickering light in the windows, before she disappeared beyond the ridge. The speck of a white dog followed after her; the night descended as well, and her father sighed. The weather had changed that night, the howling wind turning to a strangely warm breeze. When she emerged from the hills at dawn, the early morning sun made the high, wispy clouds shine like fire in the sky. He went to meet her outside as she approached the farmyard in the wake of the dog. She did not look like she had spent a miserable, wet night huddled in the bracken. She looked like she had a wonderful secret. The dog now back at her side looked much the same, although her father reflected that the dog had perhaps always looked like that. As she dropped the wriggling lamb into the pen to run to its mother, the smile on her face warmed him and evaporated last night's worries. Something was a little different though; from that day she often spoke about dragons in the hills, seeing dragons fly through the evening sky like ripples in a pond or hope in the spring. She talked about being favored with a dragon's gifts, about how to find their caves in the hills, how to share in their knowledge of the great mysteries. Although she disappeared into the hills occasionally over the years, she always returned, so her father was content to let her go alone after the lost lambs, as he tender the fire. And, he knew, he could not have stopped her anyway, when she ventured out after whatever else it was she sought up in the wild hills. Reflected in her upraised eyes, he saw the evening clouds race across the silver sky, saw the treetops restless and tossing against the last pale strip of sunlit sky in the west. He saw in her eyes the reflections of twinkling lights in the hills, like many far off lanterns, though if he turned and looked into the hills himself, he saw no lights at all, but only shadow, and knew the lights were hers alone.
Related
Related
Related
Related