In the piney woods
the ground is still frozen,
and the melting snow
forms
magical lakes
winding
among the trees.

A delicate, chill mist
pervades,
and the silence
of the wood
mocks
the distant truck-rumblings
from the more-distant
logging road.

Water and shadow
make
this world,
both seeming to
drip
from the just-unburdened boughs
and
seep
up through the relaxing soil.

It is first-spring,
and the boy
invents
adventure,
and spots the Unicorn,
the Lady of the Wood,
through the dark branches.

And this boulder
shelters
a cave-mouth,
breathing troll-stench
into the light,
transforming to dust.

Sneaker-wet,
twisted-branch staff at ready,
the boy
trudges
through his breath-wisps,
huddled
in a red gnome-hat
hooded sweatshirt,
eyes wide,
looking
for that glint
of the magical
that an adult would overlook.

There!

What was that?

That sound?

Like a monster's growl,
or fabric tearing
heavily,

and was that a scream?
A drawn-sword
shlang-ang-ang
echoing through
the balsamic gloom?

Heart thudding, the boy investigates,
is never heard from again,
wafted away on faery wings
to distant gold-mote Summerland
where his father's
pocket watch
is a mythic
talisman.

What is left
returns
home to attempt an essay
on why he should
Cease
Goofing Off
in School.

Scott Maddix
May 1, 2001