White Magic and the Stag King

Tue, November 20, 2007
The first snow, falling; I sat at my table, fidgety, wanting to go run and play. All morning I studied away until the anxiety over the exam and the need to burn off the adrenalin of fear became apparent... and finally the sharp desire to bounce into the cold won out.

It was cold, but I was somewhat bundled. Snow does something to me; excites me, and quiets me all at once. Fills me with a sense of magic and richness. It makes the winter bearable, wonderful...

And so I ran. I ran carefully, up on the balls of my feet, bouncing gently along the path. Going up hills, avoiding rocks now hidden not just under leaves now but under snow as well. This all I managed gracefully, sailing over fallen logs and small streams, rocks and gullies. Pure bliss. After a while I found my stride and felt my muscles relax, and felt I could go at that pace all day long- and probably could.

I came to the part of the forest dominated by pines, thick with green. This part of the forest is especially lovely; quiet, serene, covered in needles and so kind to the senses. When I leapt over the fallen stone wall the sharp scent of resin hit my nose, stronger than ever before, and this startled me to a stop in the middle of the bed of pine needles. There was something else mixed in with the strong balsam scent- something wild, something at once strange and familiar. It was so quiet, so very quiet- even still, I sensed rather than hear the movement off to the side of the clearing I stood in.

There, in the branches, I saw a face. I nearly leapt out of my skin; eyes peering into mine, aware, alive and oh so old. So very very old, yet young and beautiful all at once. He carefully stepped clear of the branches and I began to see what I missed when he was hidden in the pines- graceful antlers rising out of his thick hair... that, and he was not wearing all that much. Tall. So very tall, as the trees, and strong- a perfect visage of the humanesque hunter, but alien to it, a thing in itself.

The heat in my body from the run rose entirely up to my face. And to my thighs. One cannot look upon this kind of intense male beauty without feeling it call to the deepest core, the primal self. I stood there only breathing, just breathing- it was all I could manage. This face, this face- I could only gaze and admire, it had in it elements of every male I have ever loved, befriended, cared for- everything I have ever admired in that fine half of our species. And yet it held more, so much more; wisdom and experience, deep care and yet a frightening carelessness that I understood somewhere in my mind.

He advanced towards me, and I stood frozen as a doe on the soft powder covered needles. I was as unable to move as if I had been frozen there in time. It did not matter- I would never have moved for all the world. Those eyes, they never left mine; deep forest pools, green and blue and brown and yellow all at the same time, brighter than anything else in my vision. I could not speak, and he did not need to. When he was but a foot from me, the scent of him filled my lungs- pine, musk, wheat, wild, earth, snow- I am unable to say perfectly what it was. I could not bear to look at his face anymore, too much, longing filling my heart, and so I closed my eyes. The rest of me knew exactly how far away he was and how slowly he approached me. When he reached me, I felt a touch on my hand, lips on my face- right between my brows, on my third eye.

A howling filled my ears at that touch. Wings, whinnies, the scream of a wildcat. Hoofbeats, growls and cries I could not discern. The whole of animal kind filled my ears, my heart. I gasped aloud with the sheer weight of it- pain? I cannot say. The cries filled me and were gone, so fast. They were gone but I was filled with something, some sense... I opened my eyes and the Stag King was gone. I stood (alone?) in the clearing, facing the pond nestled in a gully nearby. The light, so odd, reflected off the pond and I felt incredibly alive.