Boisvert

She carries a spirit ancient as her name,

eyes matching its meaning, a woman

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of the woods, an evergreen, lanky as a

a pine spiring to the heavens.

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You’ll be lucky to catch a glimpse, every now

and again, as she rides her white rover

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through the vastness of her range. A phantom

image out of the corner of your eye,

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flashing through the trees, then melding

into the green, natural as the copse from

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whence she emerged. Count yourself lucky

to see her sparkle, and blessed beyond belief

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if she gives you a smile, before she

melts away into the undergrowth.

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Mademoiselle Boisvert rarely passes the same way twice.