Outside, garden of their dreams was tilled in wait and staying of the spring, dark earth worked and prepared together for whole of season and life’s share in the bounty it would bring.
Inside, in the morning quiet, he read the story once again and returned to other time: another winter turned to spring when golden flowers rose from earth awakened from winter’s sleep when then began the greater story as that held in his hand: a Garden Party of One’s Dreams, storied mountains, drink and dance, White Lady standing there—tall and pure and fair, in flowered bloom of living white; an elven queen, or of human-lore, bearing tresses of light for hair—garland and gold-roses amongst, adorning as a crown.
Thus began the greater tale, he unknowing then but under spell and magic of its call. Spell, magic, or simply spirit, she imprinted onto him, sear of the soul in witness to such beauty and true-fair. Magic she possessed: she revealed one’s inmost depths, one’s greatest fears, strongest desires, all appearing then as dream that may or may not be.
He read the story once again, remembering all of past. Returned to the present, she remained asleep and at his side: lovely, pure, living dream—White Lady, Lady of the Woods, Mistress of Magic. Tresses of sunlight grew from her and fanned over pillow, neck, shoulder, ends of her rays in light and shine onto high of her open breast.
Waking, witness, he fell again unto her spell: magic of her smile, gold of light in catch of eyes that shone as spirit-gleam; and about her neck, thin pendant-chain, held Star of Eärendil—dazzling, bright and brilliant—upon her dream of winter skin and high begin to valley of her cleft, her winter-fairness rosed then in warm-wake of a lover’s heat.
Her lips, her mouth, her hold and draw of to him—bodied and spellbound—in make of their truest dream. Arc of her body, high peak of her breasts steadied and stilled in brace-hold from above, they set into vigorous, spirited love—whole of season and life’s share in the bounty it would bring.