Of Laughter, Stars And Fairy Dust

• Rebecca Koch, Grade 11, Kadina Memorial High School
• Poetry
• 2010

Finalist in the 'Pieces of Paradise 2010/2011' competition

Her fingers pass over the keyboard like a dancer; so well trained they never miss a key or a beat. Words and letters appear on the screen as if they were faded stories, myths and legends brought back to life before a reader’s eyes. She stops and hesitates only when unsure of the right word.

The only sound is the tapping of the keys and her breathing, soft so that it doesn’t break the almost-silence like the shattering of a mirror. Her poems make you cry tears of purity; her stories draw you in so you cannot stop reading until the last page has been turned. Her dreams are like fuel for a fire burning against a black night sky; her imagination so vivid you could reach out and touch the butterfly she has just described.

You can never stop listening to her voice; gold like honey and the summer sun, quiet like a whisper and the breeze. Her green eyes captivate you; make you think she is peering into your soul and seeing all the sins you have ever committed. Her blonde hair looks like spun silk, shining in the light and glinting like coins.

Speaking is not something she does unless talking aloud is necessary. She prefers the words in her mind; the poems and songs suspended like gossamer wings inside her thoughts. Her stories are unrivaled. Daydreaming is a part of her life.

She is as graceful as a ballet dancer, as if every step she takes is effortless. Always she is thinking of new ways to make her readers smile or cry, become filled with sorrow or overflow with happiness. She never pauses to rest.

Even her nightmares are woven onto the screen, the screams typed on the keys. Her dreams though, the ones she sees at night, they are as if she hears stories from the moon itself. As if silver moonbeams whisper in her ear, tell her their secrets. Perhaps they do.

The things others don’t take the time to notice, she stops and sees. She ponders and asks. She wonders and she remembers. She stores things away in her mind. Beautiful things, words she might later lace into the white emptiness that is her canvas.

She can build magnificent castles and sky scrapers that touch the clouds. She can grow forests; tell the leaves when to fall. Her magic is such she can tame wild animals; cast spells of darkness or light; show the breeze how to dance. She can find the weakness or the strength in every being and see the stories there.

She is a writer who writes of things we can only read about. Things we can discover only after the very last full stop is placed on the very last page. Deeds we dream about even after the book is closed. Even the places follow us until we are able to visit again.

She is a weaver of dreams, mysteries, life and love. Of laughter, stars and fairy dust.