Night Walk

The fog had muted the moonshine, the air was neither warm nor cold, and I confidently strode down the drive in my winter boots. My flannel shirt was slung over my shoulder and my skin felt invigorated by the night air. I was a tad annoyed when the yard light kicked on, the electric light was too bright. It canceled out the pearly fog surrounding me. Eventually, it winked out. I was completely alone on the gravel road surrounded by the woods. I raised my arm to the hidden goddess above and smiled. This is where I belonged. It was wonderful to enjoy the freedom found in the shrouded night. My flashlight illuminated glistening diamonds strung on spider threads and scattered on branches. Quiet drops fell from trees, the only sound I could hear besides the gentle crunching of my steps. There was a crisp scent in the air, not unpleasant, yet chill and wet. The dryad in me thrilled to the world I was wandering in.

However, I probably should have not strayed off into the yard. I’m pretty sure dryads don’t get their legs snagged by wild rose bush thorns. They don’t slip on wet leaves as they saunter down hills. Nor have I read of dryads being scratched by the trees they embrace and getting bark dust on their skin. The woodland creatures also don’t appear to ail from sore muscles. The worst part, however, was not finding a single randy faun to cavort with. Reality is so unfair when you drop into a fantasy!