She lives high in the mountains
where the elms skirt the roads
in blankets of champagne and russet
and the moon, when it blooms
sits on the highest hilltop.
The sun weaves its way through the pines
and tattoos the forest floor--
glistens on Little Bear Pond
like light dancing off diamonds.
Minnows circle just under the surface.
Her cottage is quaint, sturdy. Made
of logs with hand hewn shutters.
A solid oak door, speakeasy grille
guards the front. Her garden
is fragrant with tea olive and lavender,
lush in herbs like sage and basil.
Lanterns hang off wrought iron hooks.
She lights them at dusk to honor the night,
draws moths to the flames
so they can dance in the glow.