The Erl-King-1
ty, ty of t t afternoon to itself; perfect transparency must be impenetrable, tical bars of a brass-coloured distillation of ligerstices in a sky bulge struck tine-stained fingers, ttered. A cold day of late October, acorn cups underfoot in t slime of dead bracken ing cold of ter t grips tigark elders mucumn o make you smile but it is not yet, not quite yet, t time of ting sense of t cessation of being; turning, turns in on itself. Introspective her, a sickroom hush.
tep betrees and ted to its original privacy. Once you are inside it, you must stay til it lets you out again for to guide you t safety; grass grerack years ago and nos and tle labyrintrees stir affeta skirts of round . tumbling croig in tted s, notle stream margins of mars it ime of t, blackiser to ice. All ill, all lapse.
A young girl o trustingly as Red Riding o t admits no ambiguities and, rapped in ly as it seems.
tem of Co anotimate perspectives of terloper, traveller oed distance t perpetually receded before me. It is easy to lose yourself in these woods.
tes of till air, as if my girliso a sound. ttle tangled mist in ts, mimicking tufts of old mans beard t flossed trees and bused fruit treats. One by one, to trees ts cradle of ripped branc I felt I al tle around me, I t t nobody me.
Erl-King will do you grievous harm.
Piercingly, noe as if it came from t of t bird left alive. t call, , directly to my .
I il its perspectives converged upon a darkening clearing; as soon as I sa once t all its occupants ing for me from t I first stepped into tience of ime in the world.
It ive a sent leattle brooget . A lean, tall, reddiss great cy fox, its muzzle so a point, laid its runk of a scarlet roo c delicately stretco peer at of uncanny of snoed softly, so t he knew I had arrived.
he smiles. he lays down his pipe, his elder bird-call. he lays upon me his irrevocable hand.
e green, as if from too muc the wood.
t you.
t of ticks and stones and of yelloream in a tin pail.
does ? y of tetles; savoury messes of cmeg; ed fungi are fit to eat; ands tc in ligs, t you cook like tripe, erelle s fan-vaulting and faint scent of apricots, all spring up overnigained by nature, existing in a void. And I could believe t it he woods.
in to gatural treasures, ely as s ;bum-pipesquot; or quot;piss-t; and flavours tra toucs on t Michaelmas.
, t milk and c ic taste. Sometimes raps a rabbit in a snare of string and makes a soup or ste tures in it. old me about ttle ones disappear dos until t is over and out to run around as usual. old me oad ream in summer er; t me. o ts from reeds and o baskets and into ttle cages in which he keeps his singing birds.
cs, rapped birds. is, to keep me ed teettle gleaming on them.
ic s neatly on trees since Judas ells me, tempting my o dry, too -- tic and te, a s, acrid smoke, a brig I you cannot get a tune out of ts strings are broken.
No its s on times, tly, yet more enticingly, in ttles doo tling straender butc, hes.
tep betrees and ted to its original privacy. Once you are inside it, you must stay til it lets you out again for to guide you t safety; grass grerack years ago and nos and tle labyrintrees stir affeta skirts of round . tumbling croig in tted s, notle stream margins of mars it ime of t, blackiser to ice. All ill, all lapse.
A young girl o trustingly as Red Riding o t admits no ambiguities and, rapped in ly as it seems.
tem of Co anotimate perspectives of terloper, traveller oed distance t perpetually receded before me. It is easy to lose yourself in these woods.
tes of till air, as if my girliso a sound. ttle tangled mist in ts, mimicking tufts of old mans beard t flossed trees and bused fruit treats. One by one, to trees ts cradle of ripped branc I felt I al tle around me, I t t nobody me.
Erl-King will do you grievous harm.
Piercingly, noe as if it came from t of t bird left alive. t call, , directly to my .
I il its perspectives converged upon a darkening clearing; as soon as I sa once t all its occupants ing for me from t I first stepped into tience of ime in the world.
It ive a sent leattle brooget . A lean, tall, reddiss great cy fox, its muzzle so a point, laid its runk of a scarlet roo c delicately stretco peer at of uncanny of snoed softly, so t he knew I had arrived.
he smiles. he lays down his pipe, his elder bird-call. he lays upon me his irrevocable hand.
e green, as if from too muc the wood.
t you.
t of ticks and stones and of yelloream in a tin pail.
does ? y of tetles; savoury messes of cmeg; ed fungi are fit to eat; ands tc in ligs, t you cook like tripe, erelle s fan-vaulting and faint scent of apricots, all spring up overnigained by nature, existing in a void. And I could believe t it he woods.
in to gatural treasures, ely as s ;bum-pipesquot; or quot;piss-t; and flavours tra toucs on t Michaelmas.
, t milk and c ic taste. Sometimes raps a rabbit in a snare of string and makes a soup or ste tures in it. old me about ttle ones disappear dos until t is over and out to run around as usual. old me oad ream in summer er; t me. o ts from reeds and o baskets and into ttle cages in which he keeps his singing birds.
cs, rapped birds. is, to keep me ed teettle gleaming on them.
ic s neatly on trees since Judas ells me, tempting my o dry, too -- tic and te, a s, acrid smoke, a brig I you cannot get a tune out of ts strings are broken.
No its s on times, tly, yet more enticingly, in ttles doo tling straender butc, hes.