Reflections of a Fallen Angel

She spun around and around, hands outstretched and head reaching toward the sky. It was a beautiful day; the sun was at its zenith and the wind was mild. She had been dancing and singing to herself since morning. “Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day, all in the morning betime, and I a maid at your window, to be your Valentine” the song went and it was about something she couldn’t quite grasp. When she wasn’t dancing, she amused herself with flowers. Rosemary and pansies, fennel, columbines and rue; daisies spread across the rich green hills like wildfire, reflecting the light from the sun, making the air and sky luminescent; it was almost magical. Taking a seat, she collected the flowers together in her hands, kissing each petal, making sure that each had her angelic blessing.

The flowers began to sway and the wind rattled the leaves of the trees. A honey bee was buzzing nearby, sucking the sweet nectar of a flower to take back to its hive. The soft buzzing of the bee and the rattling of the leaves made natural music to her ears. She became quiet for a moment listening to Nature’s music and rocking back and forth. She closed her eyes, and humming softly to herself she imagined she was a bird; a beautiful pearl white dove. With her arms spread about on both sides, she slowly raised herself up off the earth and began to frolic through the grass, carefully listening and following the sound of the bee.

She soon came upon a brook. The subtle sound of water splashing over rocks hung in the air. The trees were bending low, surrounding the water’s edge. Their leaves like hair falling along side their trunks caressed the murky blue water below. The sun shined through the gaps in the trees playfully creating a flickering effect on the water. She stopped for a moment, taking in all the sights and sounds, never realizing that the buzzing of the bee she had been following had dissipated.

She walked around the trees and stepping over the many rocks that littered the bank, she made her way closer to the shore. She stood there and watched for a moment as the water made small waves as it came to shore before heading back to sit and relax in the shade of a huge willow tree.

The White Willow stood twenty feet tall, its white leaves glistening in the pale afternoon sunlight. Looking up, she found it to be mesmerizing—the most beautiful thing she ever saw. She wanted to pluck it from the ground and kiss every leaf, so that she could hold it in her hand like the rest of the flowers. She walked closer to the willow’s trunk and wrapped her arms around it. She tugged; it wouldn’t budge. She took a step back and looked at it again. If only it wasn’t so strong, it would easily be pulled from the ground. Seeing how her attempt at having the willow firmly in her hand was utterly impossible, she sat herself under its massive shadow and began to thread a garland, singing merrily.

Rosemary and pansies, fennel, columbines and rue all coming together to make one elegant wreath; one delicate headdress made of yellow, purple, red, green and white flowers; a pure gift for an innocent. When she was finally done with the garland, she made another; then another and another after that. Soon she was surrounded by an array of garlands with nothing to do with them. She picked up her first garland and placed it on her head. She then proceeded to pick the others up and loop them on her arms. When they were all dangling gracefully off of her arms, she rose from the ground stretching and yawning.

She looked up at the White Willow again. Taking a step back, she imagined that it was staring back at her. She began to sing to it softly and when a gust of wind passed through the valley and rattled its leaves, she was afraid that she had offended it. “O! Didn’t you find that to be a charming song? No? Well then, how about another?”

She waited for a moment and then began singing of flowers by a grave. Another gust of wind and the willow’s leaves began to sway. “Don’t like that song either, I see. Well, what would you like me to sing then?” she said, her voice stern and a frown upon her face. “How about some flowers? Would you like a beautiful headdress?” The sun began to shine through the leaves, finally informing her that the willow was pleased with such an offer.

“Now, how shall I get them to you?” she said, her gaze traveling up and down the massive truck of the willow. “Oh, I know! I’ll just climb up to that branch and hang them there for you. That way they’ll over look the brook and when the sun shines that delicate way through the trees, it’ll illuminate the wreath, making it look like a gift from God! Oh, such a marvelous idea!”

With garlands of rosemary and pansies, fennel, columbines and rue hanging from her arms, she began to climb up the trunk of the White Willow. The climb was tough and the lowest branch wasn’t near to the ground at all. Yet as the sun began to shine on the branch through the trees, she made her way to the top, swinging her right leg over the branch in triumph. “Here’s a garland for you!” she said hanging one wreath on the branch. “Here’s another one for good fortune and strong health.” She proceeded to hang another garland on the branch. “Oh and here’s one for…love.” As she placed the final garland for love on the branch, the branch snapped and down she went, tumbling into the river, her delicate wreaths following after her.

Her white silk dress spread out about her, keeping her a flout for a moment longer. Her garlands slowly began to unraveled, becoming lilies flouting along the river. She sang a song of old tales completely oblivious to her ever sinking body. Soon her white dress began to fade to black, the murky water diluting the fabric no longer strong enough to hold her up. She didn’t panic though. She just kept singing her calm melody, until water pulled her down; until water filled her lungs; until water inked her clothes. White turned to black. Sunshine turned to night. The White Willow bent its branches in the wind, leaves falling into the dark water, weeping.