The Rowan Glade
A TWO-MINUTE Hallowe'en Spoof
The Samhain moon in the treetops was his only light as he made his way through the dark and mossy wood. The leaf-strewn path was narrow and overgrown, thorny weeds grabbed at the cuffs of his trousers as he passed between the twisty oaks and rowans trees. He knew the way — he walked it every night after work. Darkness was nothing to him.
He had just crossed the small footbridge that spanned the trickle of the Dunwater, when he thought he saw a light up ahead — light rising from the forest floor. It grew brighter as he approached a small clearing, and the surrounding woods seemed all the darker in contrast. He stopped on the pathway and kept himself hidden behind a rowan tree with it’s gray, scaly bark and clumps of blood-red berries.
There were two women in the glade, crouching together in the leaves, heads down, quiet as a sigh. He watched them, fascinated, wondering what they were doing. Not wanting to scare them, he stayed in the shadows.
Earlier, he had slogged through his long working day among the dead. His was the daily thankless drudgery of being the grounds keeper and grave digger at the cemetery on the edge of the village of Coille Dubh. He hated his work, and had dreamed of leaving for so long, but never quite managed to get away. At the end of each day, he stopped at The Rook and The Raven for his two pints of ale, then he’d stumble on to his cottage on the other side of the Whistle Wood. It seems the ale was the only thing he ever had to look forward to.
Suddenly, the two women shook their heads vigorously and looked about them. They gazed up and down, right and left, then their blinking eyes landed directly upon him. Startled, they looked at each other for a moment, but didn’t speak or stand. He smiled, not moving, showing them he was harmless. They stared at him for a long while, then one lifted a hand to him and nodded.
“Hullo”, he said, walking slowly toward them, “I’m Duncan, Duncan MacLean. Are ye in need of any help at all, lassies? Are ye all right then? Ye needna be scairt o’ me. Ah’ll nay bother ye.”
One woman offered her hand and he helped her rise, unsteady as she was. Then he helped the other to her wobbling feet. They were dressed all in transparent gray gauze, loose and delicate, with long, wide sleeves. Both had fluffy tufts of feathery hair on the tops of their heads, and wore no shoes on their pearly feet. He could see through their thin cloaks, that their bodies were beautifully soft and rounded. They had long, graceful fingers, their arms were slender and white, their eyes as black as onyx.
The women suddenly flew to the nearest rowan and began plucking the bitter-sweet berries, the bright red berries embedded with tiny black pentangles. They seemed ravenous and appeared to forget for a time that he was standing there.
They made small chittering bird-like noises to each other as they ate. One woman, her lips stained red from the juice, brought Duncan a handful of the berries, then all three sat in the center of the moon-struck glade. The women, took out their fine needles and thread, and fashioned a necklace of berries. They placed it around his neck. He was enchanted by them.
Singing a sweet warbling song, they rose and took his hands and danced in a circle. Round and round they went as they sang. Soon, he found himself falling asleep and they lay him down on a bed of leaves. Stretching out on either side of him, they spread their gray cloaks across his body and wrapped their arms around him. They all fell into a deep well of sleep.
Duncan awakened at first light, and seeing that it was a beautiful morning, he began to sing for the first time in his life. He was perched on a bare tree branch, with two other sparrows. His feathers were gray, his breast a pale yellow. He fluttered his wings and finding them strong, he gratefully flew away with them into his brand new life.
Note: Samhain is an ancient Celtic festival that takes place on October 31. It marks the end of the summer season and the harvest, and ushers in the dark part of the year. The festival was usurped in the eighth century by Pope Gregory III and the Catholic church and, as it is the day before All Saints’ Day, it was renamed All Hallows Eve, or Hallowe’en. (Samhain is Gaelic and is pronounced sá-win. )
So that's where birds come from. Who knew? I learn so much on Substack. 😉
Well done, fine lady.
Enchanting. I love that you chose a sparrow and the mythical rowan tree.