The Shadow Dancers


Part Two-The Return

Once upon a time when the full moon rose above the treetops.

The cool night created a rolling fog that covered the garden with mystery and made the fountains sound louder yet softened the sound of the rusted garden gate opening.  Just like my visit years ago I could hear soft footsteps muffled in the distance.  The Shadow Dancers gathered by the large fountain in the center of the garden.  Fireflies flicker across the water lighting up the night sky, sparkling and reflecting the light, luminous on the white clothing of the dancers.

Her hair is copper with streaks of bronze.  Her eyes are violet like the moonflowers that open each night.  Her lily-white dress only shows the sun’s reflection off the moon when the moon is full.  She quietly sits in the garden, counting the stars and dreaming of when he will again be able to see her.

She is forever there, blowing the sweet smell of jasmine to tickle his nose and remind him of her.  The subtle sun stains that appear as the fog lifts, the reflection of her dress off the morning mist.  He cannot see her during those times, but she sees him.  She notices him and knows he is searching for her, but alas, her magic is only visible when the moon is full.

She watches as he seems sad to see the garden overflowing with weeds and a rusted garden gate, but all reflect who she is.  The days turn into nights and the nights into days.  She sees the beauty in the wildflowers and the rusted garden gate.  They reflect the copper locks on her head that frame her face and wait for the full moon’s entrance to be once again visible.

She dreams of again holding his hand and dancing to the sounds of the night.  She plays her harp softly for those shadow dancers whom partners can remain.  She has learned that although the times are few, the need for him to continue without her is necessary.  He has a purpose that she tries desperately to convey.  The words he utters, the images he conjures up with the simple symphony of letters, making a word, making a sentence, creating stories filled with magic and mystery.  She cannot be selfish and must continue to share her companion with the world of light.

She glances up to the sky; the moon is full. He will be here soon.  She rests and awaits his arrival quietly in the field of clovers.

With a racing heart I looked for her, my Shadow Dancer, longing to hold her hand as I once had many years ago as we walked along the pathways, smelling the Jasmin and Honeysuckle.  I wonder will she be here tonight on this full moon.  The healing moon, where all things are possible and the shadow dancers gather to dance, illuminated like ghosts in the moonlight.

It is in the darkest night that the Shadow Dancers live, yet they stay hidden within the depths of the garden.  They wander the night unseen even by the believers, living a sad empty existence unable to reach through the thin veil to find their loved ones.  On that magical night when the full moon shines brightly, the moonflowers will bloom, the plant that awakens romance and gifts us with a scent of lemon.

The blackcurrant moonflower graces the main path to the fountain, and I see you walking toward me, a slight smile on your face as the moonbeams bathe your white dress with brilliance and light.  Your hand reaches out for me taking my hand and leading me to the secret grotto where we will dance until the moon sets and the dawn renders the dancer unseen, becoming like shadows living quietly behind the veil.  This is our time for love, for believing in the dance, and embracing the night.

I gift her with evening primrose, soft with the colors of pink, white, and yellow.  She places the flowers in a stone vase on the pathway wall and we dance, we talk, and I read her poetry and tell her of my life and how I miss her.  We long for the full moon when the veil opens and for a few hours we can be together, but the morning grows near, and she knows that I must leave the garden.

We walk toward the gate hand in hand, silent, not knowing what to say yet wanting to say so much. We long to empty our heart, giving voice to our love.  I realize with a sadness that my hand is empty, and the garden is returning to weeds, rusty gates, and looking back I see the evening primroses laying on the walkway watered with our tears.  A whispered goodnight echoes through the garden, then the dawn light breaks the treetops, and the veil closes until the moonflowers bloom once again.

 Part 1 – Shadow Dancers


Larry Tyler
Larry Tyler
Awaken the possibilities … then unleash them. After 55 years of successful retail management, I have returned to my passion of writing. I write Poetry, Storytelling, and Short Stories. As a child, I grew up on front porch storytelling. I would sit and listen to my Dad and his brothers tell these great stories that were captivating, and I always wanted to hear more. I wanted to experience the things they talked about. I started writing at a young age and reading everything I could get my hands on. At twelve years old I started a storytelling group and several of my friends became writers or poets. At 16 I hopped box cars and worked the tobacco fields, orange groves, picked cotton, and spent many nights around a campfire listing to life stories. Someone once asked me why I wrote. It consumes an amazing amount of time and I assure you it is not going to make me rich. I write so that my children can touch and feel my words telling of the ones that came before us and the stories they told me. These are the chronicles of our family and even though they come from my childhood memories and are deeply rooted in a child’s remembrance at least they may feel what it was like in the time before them and cherish the things the elders left behind. I am a Columnist & Featured Contributor, BIZCATALYST360 and I have The Writers Café, a group on LinkedIn that features Poets, Writers, Artists, Photographers, and Musicians . On Facebook I have two groups and one page; Dirt Road Storytelling, From Abandoned To Rescue Dogs And Cats, and About Life, Love And Living. As writers, it is true that we honestly do not know what we hold within us until we unleash it. When our words inspire others only then will inspiration return to the writer. I will spend my twilight years in search of the next story, the next poem, and the next image. I will take the time to enjoy my Wife, our Dogs, and Cats, and our amazing new home and I will always find the time to walk down a dirt road I truly hope is that I never have to read another book on Leadership, be on a conference call or see another plan o gram as these were the tool for what I did in life and not about who I am.

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