The Lady of Shalott

Among the sunbeams and shadows, sails the Lady of Shalott. From shore to shore, riverbed along riverbed. She passes yellow-leaved waterlilies and green daffodils - searching for her lost lover. He had perished in a tragic battle absent from the woeful ballads. His blue feathered helmet was the only item that was left. The kingdom he served loyally too had fallen into metal and dust. Where valiant stone towers once stood and diligent war-horses proudly pranced has since vanished into mist and myth.

The will-o'-the-wisp continues to lead her on her impossible quest. Magpies of joy and sorrow guide her; followed by depressed dragonflies and misguided ghosts. Leaving behind her a trail of goodbyes never spoken nor heard; last kisses still waiting to be had. Love's unfulfilled promises, life’s unlived memories. Chaperoning the passing to the lost and misplaced. She may never know her lover too had already passed on. Nor does she ever notice how she has not yet come to pass.

She may never take a passenger, nor may she ever walk upon the land. She is cursed to solitude. Doomed to live a life of nightmares of the unkind. They confined her to her coffin-shaped vessel with red velvet padding, so she remains alone. The Lady's petite hands hold no bow. She allows the river to take her, gently touching the heart-shaped pickerelweed in the shade of violet blue floating by. Her silk sleeves with golden seams drifted behind her, submerged in unknown murky waters, disturbing the untouched allege dust.

At the height of noon, when she sleeps. Enchanted foxes daydream of hunters' tears underneath crooked branches with bent sage green leaves. Guarded by wonky willows. They dare not look away from her, although they may wish to. They simply cannot. The Lady of Shalott's presence is hypnotic. Young deers stand stunned senseless yet feel anything but. Elder grey rabbits with fragile white whiskers stand caught in mid chase; frozen as prey in pursuit. Toads tremble in the swallow waters, tiny ugly ducklings, brown ducks and fat geese keep their damp wings still. Silence never felt so cruel.

On quieter nights when the stars are dull, and the skies are clearest. The summer breeze will turn unmoving and she will mourn beneath the strawberry moon. Her lonely lullaby haunts sleepy barn owls and bewitches hunchback hedgehogs. The wax from her white candles will never melt; the wicks will never cease. The scent of vanilla bean and ripe oranges, roll across the forgotten riverbanks. Inviting lime-green luna moths and hungry-eyed fruit bats into the sweet thick fog. Once seen entering the haze, they do not return for themselves, like the Lady; fated to fail.

When rainfall and the river meet on windiest days, the Lady in her runic raft passes. Teardrop fairies jumping from one droplet to the next, change the rain towards the clouds it came. The English rain does not extinguish her candlelight. They still burn. Her uncut hair does not turn into little red ringlets. The band around her crown remains parched, not withered. In storms, black cats flee, afraid of crossing her wet path. Beavers smash damns and blind moles break moss mounds. Slugs seek shelter and snails wish for freedom...

On the coldest of Tuesdays, one snowy morning. Where the water had not yet turned to ice and spiderwebs were woven in frost, the vessel became vacant. The hour was still in the tone of blue and red robins were running late. The worms were deeply relieved. Holding her mirror cracked from side to side between two naked trees. A young stranger strolling through ancient roads halted in pace, spellbound by the sight of the Lady of Shalott. When they met each other's eyes, she fell to her knees, church bells tolling. She had met her long awaited date with death.

Her name was Elaine.

_________________________________________

Waterhouse's The Lady of Shalott is a painting inspired by Lord Alfred Tennyson’s famous poem, The Lady of Shalott (1832). The poem writes the lady into Arthurian legend as Lancelot's lover, Elaine. I read Tennyson's poem as an inspiration for setting and significant imagery. The poem focuses on how The Lady of Shalott becomes the Lady. I wanted to add to her story as if someone were to discover this story many years into the future.

The painting is a hauntingly stunning piece that is unappreciated. The beautiful supernatural and ghostly undertones caught the eye, inviting you as the viewer to look deeper into the art. Who is the Lady? And why does she look sad?

*Will-o'-the-wisp: can refer to someone or something that keeps disappearing, or that is impossible to catch or reach. The phrase is also associated with fairies in Irish folklore. Coincidently, the Lady of the Shalott is also associated with fairies.

*'The Will' can also refer to the 'Will of the Torch.'

Anyway, I throughly enjoyed writing for this challenge. I hope you like the piece and thank you for your read. Don't forget to leave some love and subscribe and, as always;

Stay safe, stay hopeful and stay blessed :)