THE GUARDIAN OF THE TOWER

THE GODESS OF FAIRYLAND Her presence was felt long before she entered the room. He said: “my wife will be here soon” and moved away as if he had something on his mind. I sensed the sound of devotion in his voice. He reminded me of the elves of his land .His Irish eyes, two clever pools of greenish brown, could hide any feelings which lingered in his soul .The sea in the cove below roared among the ruins of the ancient monastery that appeared fragile, yet eternal, beyond and above time and space .I admired the scene but then turned to mingle with society. I whirled around the room in a place wonderfully unfamiliar to me where, I thought, I could “rest my soul”. I felt at ease in its sober luxury, my dark outfit matching perfectly with the black tablecloth set dramatically on the table. Everyone seemed to be different from anyone I had ever met before and I could breathe freedom all around. We were all “blown in” as the locals say, blown in by the wind of chance, desire, despair or adventure. We were foreigners who had found peace amidst these rocks between the ocean and the fields trying to call this place home. Nothing was ordinary in the house where the party was going on and never would be. The walls were not white but “soft hessian”, with a dash of “elephant’s breathe”; a special color distributed by a posh English company. The kitchen cabinets had been imported from Italy, the window sills from Germany, marble floors from God knows where, and the pink couch from Paris, soft, soft “forget your troubles” pink . Wine glasses were scattered all over the place; it was a house warming party, after all. Bright red carpets flashed against the pale walls but something seemed to be missing. Silk skirts, jeweled bodies and abundant wine were waiting for her arrival… I could hear the ladies whispering her name to one another with admiration. Riding, she has been riding, but she was coming…After what seemed a lifetime the door opened, she entered the room, dressed in an understated black outfit embellished only by a silver chain with some sort of Celtic demigod that stared at the crowd. She, “the Goddess of the Island”, was simply enchanting, apparently unaware of all the excitement, as she made her way through the room to greet me.”You come from Italy. Wonderful place…the colors… so vibrant! I love your country.” The instinct of a painter lingered deep in her soul. I felt protected and at ease with her. The wisdom and charm of this lady stood out dramatically and for a long time after that I shined in her light and enjoyed her “joie de vivre” with simplicity. Her blue eyes, a spring of fresh water, many times quenched my thirst for compassion and understanding, until I lost sight of them. I had to leave again. It was not the place where I could “rest my soul” after all.