Song of the Banded Tree Snail

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She sat on a stool in a small circle of light
and shifted her guitar and gave it a practice
strum.  We tittered with ill-concealed
amusement at her fey features and
her serious, thin-lipped mouth.  She
leaned forward, her lips almost brushing
the microphone and murmured, “This is
something I wrote last night called ‘Song
of the Banded Tree Snail.’ ” She ignored
the quiet chuckles, “I hope you like it,” she
added before leaning back and fixing her
stare far away at something only she
could see.  Our amusement turned to
wonderment as her mouth began to bloom
with the song she had written.  Still fey, she
was holding us captive with her flowering mouth
and that lovely song.  To this day, I don’t
remember much about it except it had something
to do with never touching the ground.  Her voice
drew us in and took us wherever she wanted.  She
sang a charm around us and when at last it
broke, we shook ourselves awake and wondered
if we’d been dreaming.  Her mouth returned to its
firm line, the fey eyes, laughing as the light died.
I think about her still.  She.
© ceg 4.24.11
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4 thoughts on “Song of the Banded Tree Snail

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