(no subject)
I met Pascal Hallibert years ago, shook his hand and told him his band's music was wonderful. He's the songwriter and vocalist of Templo Diez and Praise the Twilight Sparrow, two fantastic bands.
Pascal doesn't realize it, but he wrote a song for me. The tall Frenchman can't possibly have witnessed me at age sixteen as I wandered in my faux furs through the brushy woods in winter singing a free-form song, my dark curls lifted by the frozen breeze. He can't have known about my foolish wager with myself that I could walk the perimeter of my house with bare feet through the snow. He couldn't have known the wildness of my heart then, when I was full of music and beauty and possibility. Some part of me still believed in magic then. I was a secret sorceress, a changeling, otherworldly. I felt that there was a great, deep wonderous beauty in life and that I would be able to harness and shape it if I only knew the method.
And there would be a stranger, mysterious and kind, who would weave poetry into the air for me and treasure my heart.
I loved being that girl, and believed she would exist forever. I was half as old then as I am now, and there's little of her left in me. She made her mistakes and gambled away her illusions, lost her way and found it again. She learned that an unarmoured heart is an unwise approach. But I remember how she was before when I hear Pascal's song, as if she were captured in time through the magic of his words.
Saw her softly standing in the middle of the meadow
singing to the old trees, bare feet in the snow
Ten flowers in her hand
a hundred fires in her blow
a thousand seeds in her heart
Her eyes worth more than gold
Many winters came and went
Many summers roll'd and roll'd
Northern roads will go again
Northern lights will bear the soul
Only she will understand
She is, after all
Lady of the Snow
Blind moon carries sometimes
old tales of fear and sorrow
But all I can think about now
is the days turned so cold
Seers on the mountains
that feed the words your shadows
But all I can speak of now
is the pale stars in the photo
Many winters came and went
Many summers roll'd and roll'd
Northern roads will go again
Northern lights will bear the soul
Only she will understand
She is, after all
Lady of the Snow
Land ford may be open
The sky a balmy glow
The ocean may taunt again
I've no place to go
Saw her softly standing
in the middle of the meadow
still singing to the old trees
bare feet in the snow
Thank you, Pascal, for remembering her in your song.
Pascal doesn't realize it, but he wrote a song for me. The tall Frenchman can't possibly have witnessed me at age sixteen as I wandered in my faux furs through the brushy woods in winter singing a free-form song, my dark curls lifted by the frozen breeze. He can't have known about my foolish wager with myself that I could walk the perimeter of my house with bare feet through the snow. He couldn't have known the wildness of my heart then, when I was full of music and beauty and possibility. Some part of me still believed in magic then. I was a secret sorceress, a changeling, otherworldly. I felt that there was a great, deep wonderous beauty in life and that I would be able to harness and shape it if I only knew the method.
And there would be a stranger, mysterious and kind, who would weave poetry into the air for me and treasure my heart.
I loved being that girl, and believed she would exist forever. I was half as old then as I am now, and there's little of her left in me. She made her mistakes and gambled away her illusions, lost her way and found it again. She learned that an unarmoured heart is an unwise approach. But I remember how she was before when I hear Pascal's song, as if she were captured in time through the magic of his words.
Saw her softly standing in the middle of the meadow
singing to the old trees, bare feet in the snow
Ten flowers in her hand
a hundred fires in her blow
a thousand seeds in her heart
Her eyes worth more than gold
Many winters came and went
Many summers roll'd and roll'd
Northern roads will go again
Northern lights will bear the soul
Only she will understand
She is, after all
Lady of the Snow
Blind moon carries sometimes
old tales of fear and sorrow
But all I can think about now
is the days turned so cold
Seers on the mountains
that feed the words your shadows
But all I can speak of now
is the pale stars in the photo
Many winters came and went
Many summers roll'd and roll'd
Northern roads will go again
Northern lights will bear the soul
Only she will understand
She is, after all
Lady of the Snow
Land ford may be open
The sky a balmy glow
The ocean may taunt again
I've no place to go
Saw her softly standing
in the middle of the meadow
still singing to the old trees
bare feet in the snow
Thank you, Pascal, for remembering her in your song.