Dreams & Shadows
written by: Sandi Leibowitz
You were the tree.
You danced.
You sang with a tree’s voice,
notes resounding through wood
like the bass tones of a viol.
It was your voice and I ached to know you.
You tree you viol you dancing voice,
tell me your name, I said.
Elm, you laughed, brother of Oak,
Willow is my sister, my father is Fir,
my mother is Spruce.
Dance with me, you said,
Be my river and my wind,
Be my cloak of stars and my bed of soil.
I danced.
I was your river and your wind,
your cloak of stars and your bed of soil,
and the birch beside you.
Be my cathedral, you said,
and I will be your fountain.
So I gave up my limbs and roots
and turned my wooden skeleton to stone.
I wore a tower of emerald tiles
for your delight
and my bells rang out my love.
The light shone through my arched windows
painting your waters indigo and gold,
making your marble statues blush.
The sparrows bathed in you
and the doves rested in my shade.
All day and through the night
unceasingly your waters sang to me
of love never-changing.
Until.
Something hurt.
Sunlight pressed against my eyelids
and shocked them open.
Alone, alone
without songs or trees or bells or fountains.
Without you.
The waking world was only shadows.
So I closed my eyes,
forced myself to sleep,
tried to remember the song of your fountain,
the tune your tree danced to,
tried to dream myself back to you.
I was the tree.
I called you with my leafy voice.
You flowed at my feet, my river,
you sank beneath me, my soil,
you filled my leaves with song, my wind,
you were my sky of stars.
You stood beside me,
our roots entwining as we danced,
branches touching closer, closer
till we grew a single shadow
and the singing birds
made us their home.
- Dreams & Shadows - August 18, 2026
- The Making of A Witch - December 5, 2020
- The Cat Accursed - October 21, 2020
