Well I do. And I wanted to let you know I do.
Also, while I am at it, I thought I would start a "serial" of a short story I wrote a few years back. But first a painting of a dryad by John William Waterhouse (who I LOVE btw):
Oh till now she drank With thirst of myriad mouths the bursting cataracts of the sun,
The drizzle of gentler stars, an indivisible small rain.
Wading the dark earth, made of earth and light, cradled in air,
All that she was, she was all over.
Excerpt from the poem The Magician and the Dryad by C.S. Lewis
Alice is spinning with her face to the sky. She is wearing jeans and a skirt. I watch as she spins to a stop, her neck at an impossible angle, her mouth open to the sky and falling pine needles. She stands in the only shaft of sunlight penetrating the thick forest. I look up; but I can never see what she sees.
The train is coming. Alice tilts her head straight on her neck and walks over to the tracks. She leans down and puts her ear to the cold metal.
“We can hear it coming. You don’t need to do that.” And though I tell her this I lean down anyway and put my ear to the track. I can feel the vibrations. I lift my head.
“Alice, come on, step back.” I step back. I can see the train now, through a clearing in the woods. It is the freight train; we’re here to count the cars and to squish pennies. “Alice!” I tug at the back of her sweater. “Let’s go.” She isn’t budging. I pull harder; I reel backwards; instead of Alice, I find her pink cardigan in my fist.
“Alice! Are you crazy?” The train fills my vision; it is black and it is huge. I grab Alice by the shoulder and shove her out of the way; she is seventeen but she is tiny; she falls easily to the ground. The train passes inches from my nose. The feeling of it is incredible. We all know not to stand so close when the train passes. It is sound; it is mass; it is force. It is glorious. It is better than standing on the road when the fire engines pass. It is better than a car accident.