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Elle Wonders

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Corbie

Little Hollows Beckon

Time is moving forward again for Willa Hawthorne. She is making a name for herself in the art world and beginning a new life with her estate attorney, Evan Mercer. But soon after Willa and Evan become engaged, she is reminded why she can’t let go of the past. With an uncanny sense of timing, Jamieson Corbin pushes his way back into Willa’s life. Not only does his reappearance threaten her relationship with Evan, it challenges her very sanity because there’s an impossible catch: Jamieson has been dead for three years.

From a small idyllic town in Rhode Island to a remote hamlet in the Highlands of Scotland, Willa and an unexpected ally embark on a provocative journey of love and betrayal. When the two uncover long-hidden Corbin Family secrets, they are beckoned to a place where light and darkness intersect and spiritual boundaries are redrawn. The painful truths Willa unearths from the past force her to question everything she believes about life and death while she searches for a passage to connect the two worlds.

 

 

 

Photo by Peter Levers

 

Hollow Tree at Lanhydrock

100-hollow-tree
Photo by Peter Levers

When I think of little hollows, I think of a hollow in a tree or in a thicket of brush. I think of the slight concave area just above a hip or collar bone. The dip at the top of a man’s shoulder or the soft depression at the top of a woman’s inner thigh. But I also think of the hollow places we all have inside us that most will never see. Those small voids that become full when we experience extraordinary love and connection. These are the hollows that draw us in and make us seek ways to fit together.

 

 

(Photo by Peter Levers)

Ode to a Corbie

Ode to a Corbie copyright
Photo of E. Wonders by E. Andreas  –  Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

Ode to a Corbie

 

Swift an’ black, wi’ feaithers sleek

He looms atop th’ branches.

Wi’ time, an’ tide, an’ moors sae bleak

His battered sool, entrances.

 

Mirk ushers in, oan corbie wings

Deid silence. Ah wait an’ listen.

Fur th’ lest c-r-r-r-ruuuck! tae me, he sings

Passion stirs, an’ mah een, they glisten.

 

A yearnin’ quaver, rises up frae th’ glens

Roosed by his calls, his tooch, an’ his need.

Frae his swellin’ soonds, a’m oan edge, he kens

Fur his keen, whetted glances, Ah heed.

 

When love’s een close, nae glancin’ back

Yit charms an’ spells sometimes daur.

With his unearthly grasp, Ah shaa ne’er lack

Each other’s longings an’ vices, we baur.

 

Th’ sharp, duple pitch, shaa ne’er be far

Fur oor wayward ambition, lies a nether.

Mooths against skin, mak’ e’erlastin’ scars

Stronger than time, is oor tether.

Tho ne’er was he, a raven pure an’ reit,

Forever blows th’ win’ thru mah bones.

A new wicked yearnin’ micht willin’ tak’ flight

Upon th’ day, his black heart, atones.

 

© Elle Wonders – 2016

 


 

Ode to a Corbie (English Translation)

 

Swift and black, with feathers sleek

He looms, atop the branches.

With time, and tide, and moors so bleak

His battered soul, entrances.

 

The dark ushers in, on corbie wings

Dead silence. I await, and listen.

For the last C-r-r-r-ruuuck! to me, he sings

Passion stirs, and my eyes, they glisten.

 

A yearning quaver, rises up from the glens

Roused by his calls, his touch, and his need.

From his swelling sounds, I’m on edge, he kens

For his keen, whetted glances, I heed.

 

When love’s eyes close, no glancing back

Yet charms, and spells, sometimes dare.

With his unearthly grasp, I shall never lack

Each other’s longings, and vices, we bare.

 

The sharp, duple pitch, shall never be far

For our wayward ambition, lies a nether.

Mouths against skin, make everlasting scars

Stronger than time, is our tether.

 
Though never was he, a raven pure and right

Forever blows, the wind thru my bones.

A new wicked yearning, might willing take flight

Upon the day, his black heart, atones.

 

© Elle Wonders – 2016

 

 

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