“Evening at Volga,” Isaac Levitan, 1888, WikiArt.

Part 3: Destined Fates (Last)

Island evening, Vivanya and I, Willow, gazed
Upon northern night-shimmering clouds,*
Goddess’ sky-reaching hair unbound, sacred
Fire-reign over her bridesmaids, elder water-
Witch, such accolades due. “When did blesséd
Gifts you realize?” No rosy dawn, Vivanya
Explained, hapless child forest wandering,
Stag-rubbed sapling she found, barkless
Branches broken, within her hands new life-
Purpose found. “They called to me,” she
Confided, “Within fertile earth, goddess
Mother resided, water-breaching womb.”

Alas! Single taste, streaming water, madness
Ensued, Vivanya knew not herself, clothes
Forest-floor fallen, naked, hair mud-matted,
Twigs, thorns entangled, she entered sylvan
Realms. “Raptured girl, I had become, my
Bosom full, newly bleeding, transformed
Crystal clear, water-discerning nymph,
Decades passed, elder witch I am. My hand
Vivanya took, “Beware child, destined fates
Sought me, not other way reversed. Find
Home comforts, parents, place you sleep.
One family sustains island’s way of life.”

By Vivanya’s words, night-luminescent clouds
Gave way to stars, orbing planets passing
Overhead, simple knowledge conveyed. No,
I, Willow, was not forest-touched water-witch,
But something else, young Hebridean woman,
Crofting farms, healthy families, long-lived,
Island without disease, drought. For long as
I remained, laid cottage foundation stones,
Visions of wheat, barley, gardens, sheep
Grazing, nets fish-heavy, idyllic place-time.
With that, Vivayna ferry disappeared, briny
Life passages. No more did I know or write.

Noctilucent clouds.
Thus concludes this more mystical three-part Willow poem… 
Thanks for reading. 

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