Fields of Blue

Fields of Blue, fields of Blue

Beyond the willow marshes

Fields of Blue, fields of Blue

Cornflowers like jaunty farces

See the hill, see the hill

A maiden of peaceful keeping

See the hill, see the hill

Take care to withhold your weeping

Watch her care, watch her care

For the Blue Flowers all around

Watch her care, watch her care

For the Blue Flowers on her mound

The people of Glaswyn viewed the Lady as a creature of odd keeping. Or perhaps, it was that everyone who looked on her cottage and fields of bright cornflowers, had odd thoughts about their own keeping. In either case, I was told, upon arrival to the quiet town, that one should beware of her trickery. Of course, as an adventurer (of a sort), who had traveled to all four points of the compass, I was not turned off by such a feeble warning.

Having been in Faireplace (the riveting capital of grand Tindrel) only two weeks prior I easily accepted the slow way of life that the southern countryside offered. Faireplace, full of bustle and fanfare, was no place to let my mind free to search for that perfect verse that I had felt arising in my soul. So I journeyed south, on my trusted donkey, through the Birch Wastelands, over the Tall Hills (and no, they aren't mountains) and into the plains that mark the southern border of Tindrel. As it was springtime, the untended fields were bursting with the colour of the delicate wildflowers of the region and the crops of wheat and corn were barely to the knee of my daring donkey. His name was Turf and we had been sojourners together since my stay in the Timberlands five years prior. But of the chance encounter that blossomed friendship between Turf and I? That is a tale for another time.

Before I proceed with my fable, I must impress upon you the reason for my nomad-like journeys over the last eight years. It has been my goal since my sixteenth birthday (when all men of Tindrel decide to either enter into courtship or embark on learning at Academy), to find the place in the world that evoked the perfect rhyme-scheme in me. Yes, I have read plenty of poets, exceptional poets, lousy poets, Drelian poets, Wrangler poets, Monkish poets, anything you could imagine and yet none seemed to capture reality in it's full grandeur. It therefore became my philosophy, that perhaps (with much practice beforehand), if one found the right spot, at the right time, on the right day, maybe, just maybe, the perfect poem could be written. It is for this reason that I have been around the earth, sojourning, seeking, for the hidden treasure of a perfect poetical moment.

Now I return to my tale.

It was about this time in my journey that I came upon the village of Glaswyn, a perfect town (with great prospect!) of only a single inn, a smithy, and a granary. Seeing that the inn was a fine establishment, I chose it as my resting place for the night, hoping to become acquainted with the local philosophical aesthetic. I passed a mother with her children who gave large smiles and was immediately endeared to the place. After dismounting Turf and taking his lead-rope, I entered between the brick lampposts marked in a beautiful iron sign with the inn's name The Moon's Light. I found myself in a cobblestone courtyard, home to pots of flourishing herbs and tall tomato plants in beds against the walls. It was evident that this was a kitchen garden. As a botanist (by hobby solely), I found it humble but bright and loved and flourishing where it was able. From among the tomatoes a youngster (who, without my notice, had been bending over and tending to the plants) emerged and showing no surprise at my appearance, tipped his hat towards me.

"Afternoon sir," He said. His face, ruddy from the sun, appeared to be older than his voice. "You're not from around these parts, are you?"

I smiled and pat Turf's neck.

"It just depends how you look at things. I'm not from any place in particular, you see. I am a poet, an explorer, or perhaps something a bit less complicated than that."

The boy smiled and stuck his hoe into the dirt with force.

"We don't have many intellectual folk around here. It's mostly farmers here, and well, farmers don't read poetry."

I frowned, not in a patronizing way, but out of pity.

"Tis' quite a shame . . . " I clucked my tongue and reached into my satchel pulling out my bright green copy of "Ballad of the Western Wiles". It was one of my favorites, but not one that I couldn't pick up at a well-stocked bookstore. "Here," I said, handing the book to the boy. "There's no reason for them not to start now."

The lad accepted the book carefully, fingering it awkwardly as if it might break with too much handling. He studied the cover intensely then looked up quickly and met my eyes with excitement.

"Thank you, sir!" Shifting the book under his arm, he held out his hand. "Kitto Moon is my name."

I took the hand and shook it readily, eager to meet the acquaintance of such a bright youth.

"Kit Moonson? It is your family who owns this establishment then?"

Kitto nodded with pride.

"Aye, my great-grandfather opened this inn nearly one hundred years ago."

I swept my hand to my heart and gave a short bow.

"I salute you and your ancestors, Master Moonson. I am Efrem Oakley. My family is of Western Tindrel, and of myself, I have explained sufficiently. Now," I said, feeling my stomach gurgle as wafts of freshly baked sourdough flooded the courtyard. "if you wouldn't mind showing me where I might find a meal and room at your fine inn." Turf brayed and nodded his head, reminding me of his beastly presence. As my companion of many years, I often forgot his creaturely appearance was not of a man. "And accommodations for my compatriot here, if possible lad."

Kit let go of the hoe and wiped his soiled hands on his green coveralls.

"Of course, Mr. Oakley. I'll take your donkey to our stables and you'll find my mother through the doors there, she'll help you find what you need." He pointed towards the inn's entrance and I handed him Turf's reigns. I settled any problems with one nod towards my donkey then proceeded to enter The Moon's Light.

I entered through the rounded oak door and found a sunlight-filled tavern with little to boast of. Each table was graced with vases of those bright wildflowers I had seen near the road. I searched the place for signs of life but found no noise but the creaking of old floor planks. I was getting ready to take a seat at one of the tables when I caught the melody of a sweet lilty voice in my ear. I looked around myself and met eyes with a sweet, young face coming down the staircase. She stared with her bright blue eyes for many moments before I decided to break the spell.

"Madame Moon?" I asked, fairly certain I was incorrect gauging from the youth of the lass. Her fair skin flushed red and she hurried down the stairs to set down her basket of linens.

"No, she is my mother and you'll find her in the kitchen."

I shifted my eyes around the room and met the bright blue eyes again.

"I'm sorry, I'm new to this town, you'll have to direct me there."

"Do you need a room?" The young woman asked quickly, finally discovering the reason I might be there.

I smiled and nodded.

"Yes, and a meal, I have journeyed far and have eaten poorly."

"Journeyed?" She asked, more intrigued by this foreign idea than the imminent needs of my stomach. "From where?"

I was used to questions as these, especially in the remote towns, and therefore was not so foolish as to begin my life story right then and there.

"I shall tell all who wish to hear tonight."

An excitement flashed across her expression but thankfully, my appetite became excited as well and the grumble was loud enough for us both to hear. Her face grew serious.

"I'll find my mother." She said and left the dining area before I could thank her.

I took a seat at one of the simply designed wood tables and pulled my Drelian map from the satchel at my hip. Spreading the map out I traced my path and found that I had landed in Glaswyn, the last marked village within the borders of Tindrel. I sighed, contented with the place of resting I had chosen.

The inn filled quickly that night as news of my arrival (both true and false assumptions included) had spread through the countryside. I was filled with the delightful food Madame Moon had supplied, a meal of sourdough (still hot!), goat cheese and strawberry jam. Feeling quite prepared to divulge my tale, I pulled a vacant seat from the table nearest to me and stood atop it. I cleared my voice and the rosy faced farmers (with their families) quieted quicker than I had ever experienced. They were eager, expectant of I have no notion what.

I continued by explaining in great detail what I have already written of, so I will spare you the laborious recount of this speech. I gave young Kitto much of my attention as I could see his keen eyes were hungry for my stories. He sat on the edge of his chair with wonder flowing from his expression and I couldn't ignore this engagement. I concluded by turning the conversation onto the townspeople.

"So, my dear people of Glaswyn, if there is a place with poetical prospects in this area, how delighted I would be to know!"

The people seemed timid in answering. They glanced at eachother, some nodding in affirmation, others shrinking away, but they all seemed to share one opinion. My insides fluttered with anticipation that this might finally be the answer I had been scouring the earth for. A tall man, bearded and broad, at last stood and bellowed an answer.

"There is a lady . . . " He began with evident hesitance. "Who lives only a mile south of here. She lives to tend to her blue flowers, cornflowers, and there is never a season where their blueness isn't shining. Even the oldest person here in Glaswyn," He motioned to an old maiden in a far corner who had a small smile plastered on her face. "cannot remember a time when this lady was not in these parts, in her cottage, caring for her flowers."

A young girl who sat criss-cross on the ground gained courage to pipe in.

"She's a witch! She uses her flowers to make poison. I've seen the smoke from her chimney."

I smiled at the child, ignoring her comment and turned my focus back to the bearded man.

"Ever blooming cornflowers, you say sir?" I asked, the muse inside me bursting with life.

He nodded nervously, gripping the hat in his hand tightly.

"We're only farmers, we don't know a thing about all the bookish stuffs you've explained, but we know she ain't normal."

Many of the people nodded and muttered their agreement with the speaker, but they all looked at me, anxious for an answer. I stepped down from my chair rubbing my chin in contemplation. I had already made up my mind that I was going, but now it was just a matter of what time of day.

"I shall be going first thing in the morning." I declared after many moments of pondering. "But first, I will gladly retire to one of the Moon's fine beds." The people of Glaswyn all clapped in approval and began to disperse from the place. I made my way over to Kit Moonson. I tousled his brown mop of hair and he gazed at me with amazing admiration.

"I know you'll be the best poet in Tindrel, Mr. Oakley." He said.

I chuckled, moving towards Innkeeper Moon and his wife. After thanking them, I headed down the servant's hall to say goodnight to Turf in his stable room.

O' how jubilant a morning I awoke to the next day. The sky was freckled with fluffy, whipped clouds and the sun that danced through my window greeted the summer day with warmth. My bones awoke me in anticipation of what glories this day might behold. It is true, I have awoken many mornings in similar fashion, with the prospect of my one joy coming to fruition, but nothing so strange as this story had appeared in my lifetime! I made ready my belongings with haste, noting that the sun was already well above the horizon and set out from my inn room.

I met Innkeeper Moon coming up the staircase.

"Ah," He began, stopping on the stairs. "I've just come to see if you'll not Brek with us?"

I glanced towards one of the tall windows in the dining room and saw that I had no time to spare. I turned back to Father Moon and his jovial expression, hesitant to refuse this kind family and their delectable foods. I sighed and shook my head.

"Thank you, kind Moon, but I must set out."

The Innkeepers expression fell to being uneasy.

"So soon? That is a shame . . ." His lips twitched as if he was withholding more that was building in his spirit. I raised my eyebrows to indicate that I was ready to hear whatever it was. "Good Efrem," He began again. "I beg you to use caution, this lady is known for her trickery. There are rumors of men being lured to her home and never returning or of children wandering into her fields of flowers and being lost forever. I am only a humble, uneducated man, and you seem to have your wits about you, but I just beg you to be on your guard."

I put a hand on my heart.

"Kind sir, your concern blesses me. I will heed your words, but I warrant you have need to worry. You will see me before the day is through, and likely, with a new verse in my hand and a joy in my step."

The Innkeeper settled one of his strong hands on my shoulder.

"Kres lad, may the Maker guide you."

I bowed my head to the man, showing my gratitude, then headed for the stables to get Turf ready for the journey. Before I had retired the night before, the bearded farmer, who had been bold enough to speak, came up to me and explained how I was to find this cottage. He said I was to follow the main road south until the cross-roads. From there, I had to take the path into the Willow Marshes (known for their terrifying beauty), and her cottage would be found on the other side. It sounded simple enough, but in case of rough roads, I lightened Turf's load conceding to riding only on a blanket with my satchel around myself. The donkey was pleased with this arrangement and after he had a meal of beet sugar and hay we were quite prepared to set out.

Upon exiting the stable, I was greeted by a crowd of townspeople who had gathered to see me off. Feeling my humble quest too insignificant for this honor, I naturally grew embarrassed and clopped through the clouds with my face set forward. To my relief, I reached the end of town quickly (it was only a few structures after all) and was left to enjoy the melody of nature in peace. It truly was a ideal day in every way. It was just cool enough for me to wear my linen cloak in comfort but just warm enough where a chill never found my skin. I reckon that Turf sensed the importance of this day too, for he kept up a good pace and held his head high as if smelling the sweet air.

The crossroads I had been told of came up quickly and by the signs I was instructed that the Willow Marshes would be reached by turning left. As my companion and I peered down the road we both shared a similar sympathy: dread. The road dipped down and settled in a dark bog of willow trees that appeared both dank and dangerous. A cold swept over me and I felt my skin grow goosy, but I could not back down now. Was not any danger worth the reward of the perfect poem, of finally being able to experience a satisfaction that never fled, a joy that never faded? I straightened my shoulders, pulled up Turf's reigns and kicked my heels. Onward we would go.

Hours passed, or so I thought, for the sun was blotted out from the sky and the sad willow limbs were clouding my soul with confusion. We plodded on through the dark, I, trusting my noble donkey to guide me through what I could not see. I listened as the trees cracked and the marsh ponds stirred with life. I had no wish to know what might be lurking near me, or perhaps preying on me as their next meal. But the trees began to thin and the morning light which I was so fond of, began to seep into the thick marsh air. Turf grunted in excitement and quickened his pace, he knew the end of this horrid willow maze was soon. But as we neared the end, an unexpected event occurred.

"Reeeeeet!" A small, beastly voice called from behind me. Turf stopped and sniffed the air around him. I was a little annoyed at my donkey. For all I know this creature, whose noise appeared to be of terror, could be luring us in to shoot us with poison! (Note: I do have experience with such a beast). But Turf, the wiser of our fellowship at the moment, turned himself around. I fought the reins fiercely, but the stubbornness of donkeys is renown. In the path behind us sat a small, rather ugly, fuzzy and muddy rodent. It's eyes were far too large and it's eyes, far too small, and yet he seemed harmless. The creature hopped forward timidly then stopped again and repeated it's horrid noise. I found myself shushing the beast as I would a small child. It quieted but began to quiver. Somehow, a few moments later, this fuzzy animal was in my arms and I was climbing back onto Turf. It had not resisted and was now apparently at peace in my arms. So I exited the Willow Marshes in a larger company than I set out with.

My spirits revived as soon as the fresh air hit my lungs. Only a little ways off I could see the bright blue fields I had set out for. My heart fluttered at the sight. I pulled Turf to a halt and dismounted, settling the little creature into my satchel after removing my pencil and notebook.

"Now dear Turf, you'll remain here until I come for you."

He brayed in submission and I started towards the blue fields. My long legs appreciated the stretch after a long ride, but out of respect for the fuzzy creature I refrained from advancing into a sprint. In the midst of the blue fields, a small mound was visible with a tiny cottage a top it. There was no question that this was the home of this famed lady. I grinned and looked round at the cornflowers that began to envelop me.

I considered stopping and plopping down in the midst of the flowers but something drew me on towards the cottage. I had not yet reached it however, when a voice, as bright and sweet as the cornflowers themselves, spoke from my right.

"Kres re sen, son of Oakley."

I turned and beheld the Lady of the fields herself. Her face was radiant with youth and yet long white locks poured forth from her head falling in waves far past her waist. She wore a simple, flowing gown that matched the color around her so uncannily that I thought it must surely be made of cornflower petals. I stood in silence, and she watched me with a motherly humor. I felt my satchel stir and I looked down to see my little creature getting ready to make a jump for it. I caught him into my hands before he could while the Lady began filling her hair with cornflowers, seeming to forget my presence. Then she spoke.

"You have come far in your searching, young lad. It is a wonder that you remain confident in your quest." She looked up at me with a piercing gaze of authority.

"Why is it a wonder?" I asked, feeling offended for a reason I couldn't place. "Why would all the men of these lands strive to create if they did not think they could achieve perfection in their work?"

She laughed sweetly, and I felt ashamed.

"O dear child, go home, you will not find what you are searching for here." And to my astonishment, she turned around and began to walk away. Still red from embarrassment, I chased after her clutching onto the furry creature. She walked quicker than I anticipated and I had to jog to keep up with her long strides.

"If it is not here, than where?" I asked, feeling that if this woman was so wise, surely she would know where on earth my ideal setting might be discovered. The Lady stopped with a smile and swept her hand in a arch across the sky.

"Look around you, Efrem. Nature itself is groaning. The world is words. Creation is poetical perfection already, but it is not in the tongue of man. You walk and breathe the spoken words of the Maker and what you desire is not what you think."

The beast in my arms "reeted" quietly as if he was agreeing with the Lady. My mind was spinning. My first instinct was to fight these words. How could I have lived for my entire life believing in something completely impossible? How could I live without my quest for this joy? I clenched my jaw.

"You trick me, you witch." I accused, feeling a pit in my stomach as I did. "You created this place for men such as I, to ruin them and devour them. Go back to your home, and leave me. I will write and I will find what I have been searching for."

The Lady, solemn now, held out her hands. The fuzzy creature leapt into her arms and she continued to walk. I, alone and upset, sat where I was in the midst of the blue flowers and opened my notebook.

How long I sat there writing and scratching out words, I know not, but the sun was high in the sky when I reached a point of frustration. I could not focus on the scenery, on the deeper meanings of the flowers with the Lady's words floating through my mind. I finally shut my notebook, shoving it back into my satchel. My mind cleared as soon as I stopped trying to think. The gentle breeze rippled the blue fields in a fashion that likened to a calm lake. The wind reached me and brought the great rustling noise to my ears. I closed my eyes, breathing in and searching for the words the Lady spoke of. I kept wishing for the constant noise of nature to stop so that I could focus but then my mind cleared. I jumped to my feet and laughed. Then I ran, ran as fast as my feet would take me to the doorstep of the Lady's cottage.

The door opened before I could knock, the scent of flowers pouring out of the home.

"You're right!" I exclaimed before the door was fully open. I saw the ageless maiden's face flicker with pleasure. I pulled my notebook from my bag and flung it off the mound and into the fields below. "It is already written! And it has been being written my entire life. O Maker!" I sung loudly, facing away from the cottage. "How foolish I have been!"

The Lady appeared beside me.

"The fools shall confound the wise, young Oakley. Now go retrieve your notebook."

I faced the Lady, shocked at her words.

"But my words are just nonsense! I've just been attempting to imitate what has already existed since the conception of the earth."

"Yes, but you bring glory to your Maker by imitating the joy He takes in his creation. Be humbled, child, for you are allowed to participate in the Creator's magic." She paused and beckoned towards the field. "Now go, find your notebook, and your donkey, and the Maker's joy, and abound in thankfulness. For you have been chosen to obey, and now you will bring glory to the King."

And so I ran into the field of blue flowers, still longing, but knowing with assurance, that one day, I would find.