The Prince and His Princess

The stars sing above me. I watch as the princess steps into her carriage. Her silver shoes alight on the step and she is hidden. The shadows carry her over the road and into the sky. They mount higher and higher. The stars sing stronger as she approaches, they know where she is going and what she will find there. A prince awaits her. He stands at the door of his castle holding his breath for her. As soon as he sees her, he will race down the steps and take her hand. He will help her descend from the carriage and escort her into the hall.

They will dance.

They will dance the night away and continue on into the morning. They will out-dance the courtiers and peasants. They will out-dance the stars. They will out-dance the moon. They will out-dance the earth I stand on.

They will twirl each other through life. They will dance into battle and dance as they gain the victory. They will dance through the minefield. They will dance among my fellows.

I will watch them dance.

They will dance back down the road and to the earth. Their shoes will sparkle with the diamonds of their path and they will leave traces of it through our dust.

They will light up the ground around my roots for one instant.

And then they will be gone.

I will feel their presence when it is no more. I will hear their voices laughing in the night. I will watch their shadows cast upon the trunks of my friends after they have gone.

We will stand and remember.

Our trunks will bear the mark of their coming. And the mark of their going. We will bear the testimony of their presence and the next time the people come to walk among our fallen leaves they will look at us and wonder.

“Look at that,” they will say.

Look at what?

They will look at the traces of time peeling away our bark. They will see the paper of our trunks. They will recognize the earthly symbols of our existence, but they will miss the mark of the prince and his princess.

They will miss the dust tucked away in our cracks. They will miss the moisture stirring in our roots. They will miss the way the sun glints off the edges of our leaves. They will miss the evidence.