Poem excreta
Mar. 5th, 2007 03:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hsavinienPart one of a fairy story, sprung from the poem below. PG
The Water Journey (c) Eilean Ni Chuilleanain (i.e. not mine, no copyright infringement intended) from The Brazen Serpent
I sent the girl to the well.
She walked up the main road as far as Tell's Cross,
Turned left over the stile and up the hill path.
I stood at the door to watch her coming down,
Her eyes fixed on the level of the water
Cushioned in her palms, wavering
Like the circles of grain in wood.
She stepped neatly down the road;
The lads on bicycles cheered as they passed her
And her fingers shook and nearly leaked and lost it.
She took her time for the last fifty yards
Bringing it to the threshold and there I drank.
I said to the other sisters, each of you
Will have to do the same when your day comes.
This one has finished her turn,
She can go home with her wages;
She would hardly make it as far
As the well at the world's end.
***
Greinne sighed internally as the first girl brushed her hands dry on her skirt and flounced off, pocketing the money. Seven girls for seven days, the farmer had said, and each as well-tempered and sweet as the next. Well, that remained to be seen, but the first had proved herself nothing special. What was a sidhe-woman to do? The water of the well at the world's end was the only thing that would cure the deep soul-ache that worsened her heart and head these past few decades. The world was outgrowing the sidhe, but Greinne had long ago sworn never to abandon the poor foolish mortals, regardless of their unhealthy fondness for cold iron. Leaving Liah's descendants to wither in logic would be a poor remembrance of her first mortal lover. It was a difficult task she'd set these girls. The water of the true well would grow stale and flat, losing its virtue, if touched by wood, metal, hide or horn. Glass would boil it away immediately, and those horrible made-goods that were appearing in the humans' possession--plasstick rubear...whatever they were--would poison it and her. No waxed cloth was fine enough to contain it and stone or clay would dissolve. The solution to her dilemma was, thus far, unsuccessful.
The six remaining girls twittered and wittered quietly behind her. Greinne turned, in one of the quick, darting movements that seemed to unnerve them, and shooed them back into the house to the supper that would be waiting. Her draoiceacht was strong enough yet to keep them in comfort while she searched for her cure.
I sent the girl to the well.
She walked up the main road as far as Tell's Cross,
Turned left over the stile and up the hill path.
I stood at the door to watch her coming down,
Her eyes fixed on the level of the water
Cushioned in her palms, wavering
Like the circles of grain in wood.
She stepped neatly down the road;
The lads on bicycles cheered as they passed her
And her fingers shook and nearly leaked and lost it.
She took her time for the last fifty yards
Bringing it to the threshold and there I drank.
I said to the other sisters, each of you
Will have to do the same when your day comes.
This one has finished her turn,
She can go home with her wages;
She would hardly make it as far
As the well at the world's end.
***
Greinne sighed internally as the first girl brushed her hands dry on her skirt and flounced off, pocketing the money. Seven girls for seven days, the farmer had said, and each as well-tempered and sweet as the next. Well, that remained to be seen, but the first had proved herself nothing special. What was a sidhe-woman to do? The water of the well at the world's end was the only thing that would cure the deep soul-ache that worsened her heart and head these past few decades. The world was outgrowing the sidhe, but Greinne had long ago sworn never to abandon the poor foolish mortals, regardless of their unhealthy fondness for cold iron. Leaving Liah's descendants to wither in logic would be a poor remembrance of her first mortal lover. It was a difficult task she'd set these girls. The water of the true well would grow stale and flat, losing its virtue, if touched by wood, metal, hide or horn. Glass would boil it away immediately, and those horrible made-goods that were appearing in the humans' possession--plasstick rubear...whatever they were--would poison it and her. No waxed cloth was fine enough to contain it and stone or clay would dissolve. The solution to her dilemma was, thus far, unsuccessful.
The six remaining girls twittered and wittered quietly behind her. Greinne turned, in one of the quick, darting movements that seemed to unnerve them, and shooed them back into the house to the supper that would be waiting. Her draoiceacht was strong enough yet to keep them in comfort while she searched for her cure.
