Wood Nymphs and Dryads and Forest Fairy Friends

"Look, do you see that poem?" she said suddenly, pointing.

"Where? " Jane and Diana stared, as if expecting to see Runic rhymes on the birch trees.

"There...down in the brook...that old green, mossy log with the water flowing over it in those smooth ripples that look as if they'd been combed, and that single shaft of sunshine falling right athwart it, far down into the pool. Oh, it's the most beautiful poem I ever saw"

"I should rather call it a picture," said Jane. "A poem is lines and verses."

"Oh dear me, no." Anne shook her head with its fluffy wild cherry coronal positively. "The lines and verses are only the outward garments of the poem and are no more really it than your ruffles and flounces are you, Jane. The real poem is the soul within them...and that beautiful bit is the soul of an unwritten poem. It is not every day one sees a soul...even of a poem."

We finally had our forest play date and it was perfectly delightful.
The little wood nymphs came out to play...

....fluttering and whisking about....
...and peering into places where their forest friends may be hiding...

The previous lines are from the book 'Anne of Avonlea'
If you have never read these wonderful books by L.M. Montgomery...
you should hasten to do so.
She has the most wonderful way of transporting you to a world of sweet happiness.

Have a wonderful~day~~enjoy it to the fullest!
Chasity