I started a different poem but went with this idea that I’d thought of earlier in the month and then not written down. A little prosie, but I hope it captures the moment.
Long ago, behind Sukie’s bright pink house
we played in woods all oaken, dark and green
Just there, behind a stump, a tiny man
sitting quiet, a greenish hat cocked so.
He knew we’d spotted him, no doubt at all
so we hunkered down behind a log
and waited. We crouched until we could
not match his stillness – not a bit longer.
He’d not twitched a hair nor moved a finger
and us, knowing in our eight year old hearts
that magic was involved, and not speaking
crept away, and resumed our hour of play.
I look for him in the woods yet today
the green cap, the nameless magic, the gnome.