The Cailleach

 

Beara

The Cailleachan

The Queen Of Winter

Calls to the pale children

Crouched before their screen god

Gently coaxing

With icicled words

That chill their veins

Draw their eyes

Away from the magic box

Onto the glass

Of a mist-cornered windowpane

 

Stumbling to the door

Turning the handle

Falling into the soft cold world of reality

 

Footsteps trailing off

Into the whiteness

 

The gleeful sound

Of joy and laughter

Returning on a chill wind

 

The hours pass

They are lost

To reality

No longer beholden to

The digital dragon

Who eats their time

 

For a short while

Mother nature triumphant

Until the long melt

When the door closes

And locks out

The Living