Don't Stop And Stare! A Little Green Light Is There!

THE TRAIL LEADS THROUGH THE MARSHES where the Fairies hide and the Ogres stroll and the Gnomes come to fish when away from their treasure troves. The marshes are dark when the rain clouds come and often leave the feted ground sullen and glum.

Here and there the Fairies buzz, a fishing line plops or an Ogre snores and then there comes the man of whom all creatures know. He whistles merilly and skips a step and the marshes respond with a drip, drip, drip and he slips off his hat and sees over there the glowing green light of a Will-o’-the-wisp, hovering in the hot night air.

His merriment ends and his feet become still, and the bright green bog light dances to its fill. He knows of the wisps and the tricks they play and the many monsters and men that they do enjoy to play.

A child once, a woman the next, and over the years many dogs and cats and other furry pets. They glow bright green and often stink yet looking into their heart you often daren’t blink. Some have names that they whisper in the night when their glow dispels the wicked black light. Others are refrained and often moody, and these are the ones that are from the tales and are best not approached and asked to prove it.

The air now thick with giganteum seeds that glow bright green as if the trees were best pleased. The man now forgetting all that was taught, approached the waterside forgetting all, that these green lights had brought. The Willow-o’-the-wisp now keen to meet came hovering close glowing brightly and neat. There the man who knew too much darted back to where he stumbled on the twisting brick-a-brack road.

“You fool!” he cried and hammered his knee and there the wisp seemed to be not best pleased. It glowed brighter and brighter than ever before and then the whole marsh seemed to return dour and dark as it had been before. A hat, a bruise and he was back on his feet though his merriment had all but retreat.

“I am no cat or dog, I only seek to be off!” But the wisp seemed uninterested in pleas and grumbled in words that even if written he could not head nor read. An ancient language the wisp does so speak and yet the man knew little of what, from him, it did so seek.

He made to leave; with the hard ground beneath his feet, but the wisp glowed brightly whenever he dared to escape from their meet. He hoped for a Fairy, an Ogre, or Gnome to come and help him with getting home. He should have known that to come so far was best left to those who have horses and carts.

The wisp now enraged began to bellow, a sound terrible to hear even for the bravest of fellows. The man cupped his ears with his hands, and fell to his knees where he began to grovel. “Please, please, I won’t disturb you again!” But the wisp seemed indifferent to his toil.

He wondered how he had ranged so wrong and thought perhaps he had taken a road by accident in the wooded throng. A swamp he had heard cut a forest in twain but little did he ever think he would see it and wished to never see it again.

The man touched his head to the cold, damp floor, and there so feeble the wisp did so withdraw. A noise it made the sound of a grumble, as if so annoyed by his lack of trouble. The man remained stiff till the willow-o’-the wisp went from sight, and then he made to move with all his might.

A horse and cart he wished he had brought, for the trail back seemed much too dark and wrought. He fetched his hat along with his whits and ran as fast he could back to his village limits. There in town, he knew he’d never leave again, for the green lights do so haunt him now.

They glow bright green and often stink yet looking into their heart you often daren’t blink. Some have names that they whisper in the night when their glow dispels the wicked black light. Others are refrained and often moody, and these are the ones that are from the tales and are best not approached and asked to prove it.