From an ocean rose an island,

Art - Märchenbrunnen, Berlin, 1901-1913
Concept/design - Ludwig Hoffmann
Sculpting - Taschner, Wrba and Rauch
Photography - Sergey Kelin

From an ocean rose an island,
on the island grew a wood,
in the wood there was a highland
where an ancient circle stood.
In the center of the circle
soared the mythic monolith,
at who’s base a mushroom grew,
under which a fairy sits. 

From her canny hand extends
a twisted wizened hazel twig
with seven transcendental secrets
balanced at the end of it.
On each secret, seven pixies 
celebrate the equinox
by singing mystic harmonies 
to unlock seven onyx boxes.

Every box unlocked at once!
each released a single note; 
the notes become the origin 
of every story ever known. 
One note left it’s onyx home
and found the grassy avenue
between two rows of storystones 
descending through the ash and yew. 

Downward to a drowsing town
sequestered in a shady dale;
in the square… a fountain carved with
characters from fairytales.
At the fountain sat a lass
with old stories in her eyes.
When the pixie note rang past
she felt she’d heard it all her life.  

Heard it calling in her sleep,
in her waking daydreams too.
Not quite knowing why, 
she hurried up the grassy avenue. 
Rising past the yew and ash
between the standing storystones,
the note inspired her to pass them…
it was time she wrote her own. 

Up the grassy avenue
until she met a hedge so high;
in the hedge, a wooden gate,
upon which lit a butterfly.
Cautious not to make it stir,
mindful as she’d ever been,
the lass thanked the gatekeeper…
then began the labyrinth. 

It wrapped the highland in a whirl
like a starling murmuration;
dense, distracting, writhing, swirling;
a bewildering creation
conjured as a gauntlet for
the circle and the monolith,
at who’s base the mushroom grew,
under which the fairy sits. 

Time between the hedges was 
disorienting for the lass;
some lanes seemed to stretch forever,
others rushed abruptly past.
Turns that first seemed promising
dead-ended into Might-Have-Beens,
cul-de-sacs of Should-I-Haves,
Maybes, and Remember-Whens. 

She had all these doubts, and more,
as the path abruptly stopped;
the labyrinth ended at a door;
she held her breath, and bravely knocked. 
The heavy door groaned open
to a glimpse of the monolith
in the center of the circle,
where the mushroom fairy sits. 

The fairy smiled, waved her in,
then hovered like a hummingbird
to hand the lass the wizened twig
while she whistle-chirped, “Your turn.”
With a sweeping gleaming blur
the fairy flashed between the stones
and left the lass as new Curator,
to write a story of her own. 

Epilogue:
There’s a song the children sing
in the town down in the dale;
they sing it as they ring around
the fountain carved with fairytales.
A song about the monolith
at who’s base the mushroom grows,
under which The Curator sits
with the twig the fairy bestowed. 

On the twig, the seven secrets,
on each secret, pixies sing
on equinox with onyx boxes,
setting every story free
to leave the circle on the highland 
in the wood, above the dale 
in which the children ring around
the fountain carved with fairytales. 

The second verse goes, “Listen close!…
there’s a note that calls for you
to go between the storystones,
climb the grassy avenue
past the woods of yew and ash,
pass the gate that’s never locked,
master the Labyrinth of Distractions, 
step up to the door, 
                                   and knock.”

Lee DeNoya - Devon, UK, Sep 2023