Welcome to Sleep and Sorcery,
A folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.
Step across the threshold into a world of myth and magic where you can safely drift off into a deep and comfortable sleep.
My name is Laurel and I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.
Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,
One part guided meditation,
And one part dreamy adventure.
On each episode of Sleep and Sorcery,
I'll carry you away to a far off time and place where you'll encounter magic and mystery,
Folklore and fairy tale.
Concentrate on my voice only as long as it serves you to do so.
And when you're ready,
Feel free to let go of the story and journey into sleep.
In tonight's story,
You'll be charged by King Arthur himself to undertake a quest for the Holy Grail.
After witnessing a vision at the round table,
You and your fellow knights will set off into the forests of adventure.
Following your intuition,
You'll wander into a desolate kingdom,
Meet with the Fisher King,
And share a meal at his table.
While feasting in his castle,
You'll observe strange marvels and miracles before retiring to your chamber to rest your bones.
Before tonight's story begins,
We'll start with some progressive muscle relaxation.
If you prefer,
You can skip this exercise and go straight to the story.
This is your time.
Start by taking in a deep,
Slow breath.
Make it the biggest breath you've taken all day.
Hold.
Then slowly exhale everything from your lungs.
Completely empty them out.
Scan your body from top to bottom and feel for areas of tension or discomfort.
On your next deep breath in,
Intentionally send the breath to those areas of tension.
Imagine the breath is massaging the insides and the muscles,
Releasing anything you're clenching or holding onto.
Keep breathing.
Now on your next breath in,
Point and squeeze the muscles of the feet tightly.
Hold.
Keep squeezing the feet.
And release.
Feel the tension.
Relax.
Now move your awareness to your calves and lower legs.
Tense those muscles and hold tightly for a few seconds here.
Keep holding.
Now release the lower legs.
Go ahead and tense the muscles of the thighs and buttocks.
Squeeze tightly.
Hold.
Hold.
And release.
Breathe into this feeling of relaxation.
Now move to the belly and the chest.
Squeeze the muscles of the stomach,
Firming up the core.
Squeeze tightly and hold.
Keep holding.
Release.
Breathe deeply into the belly.
Next we'll squeeze the upper back and shoulders.
Bring the shoulders tightly up toward the ears and hold,
Feeling the tension tightly.
Hold and relax.
Let the tension melt from your shoulders.
Now make fists with your hands and tense from your hands up all the way through the arms.
Squeeze and hold.
Hold tightly.
And relax.
Breathe.
Now we'll squeeze the muscles of the face.
Scrunch up your face muscles as if you're trying to make your face as small as possible,
Closing your eyes tightly.
And hold.
Squeeze,
Feeling the tension.
And release.
Lastly we'll tense the muscles of the entire body all at once.
Tense your feet,
Legs,
Glutes,
Belly,
Shoulders,
Hands,
Arms,
Neck,
Face,
And head.
Hold.
Keep squeezing.
And release.
Let the entire body go limp.
Breathe into the feeling of softness and relaxation.
Adjust your position however you need to become as comfortable as possible.
Breathe.
Relax and soften as we move into tonight's story.
Today is a joyous day,
For at last the king has called back his loyal companions and knight's errand.
You enter the grand hall at Camelot to trumpets and fanfare which greet you,
Your cousins,
And brothers-in-arms.
For a year and a day each of you has sought comfort or honor in their own way.
Some have rescued maidens,
Slain dragons,
And visited foreign lands.
Others have married,
Defended their own castles,
Or made humble homes and families.
But for a year and a day,
However content or thrilled you may be with life outside court,
Each of you has yearned to reconvene to once again kneel at the feet of your king,
Raise glasses to each other's health,
And break bread around the glorious round table.
As the wide,
Heavy doors swing open and you behold the spectacle of the king's hall,
A rush of emotion overcomes you,
The table,
Huge and round,
Is set for seven score or more and a colossal urn at its center overflows with native wildflowers and greenery,
Fox gloves,
Poppies,
And meadow sweet among them.
The hall is decked with ivy which spills from the mantles,
Windows,
And hangings,
Giving you the impression of having entered a living indoor forest.
The fragrance of sweet breads,
Roasted meats,
And ripe fruit excite your senses.
But no food or drink or florals or spectacle are as exhilarating to you as the faces of your companions.
With a full heart,
You embrace your dear friend Gawain who claps you on the back.
You clasp hands with a glowing Lancelot who remarks how much you've grown in the year since your parting.
You share such moments with many of your friends and cousins before making your way to the seat of highest honor where King Arthur beams at this gathering of his knights.
He is just as warm yet commanding as you remember and you feel a surge of loyalty and admiration as you kneel before him,
Addressing him as your grace.
But Arthur lifts you to your feet and with tears in his eyes,
Touches your cheek,
And welcomes you into a strong embrace.
The hall is filled with such emotional reunions and the gasps of delight and cries of joy echo and bounce across the stone walls.
Finally the King,
His cheerful voice booming over the cacophony,
Bids you all to take your seats.
Every seat is filled,
Save one at the left hand of Arthur.
For as long as you can remember,
This seat has remained vacant,
Though for the life of you you can't understand why.
Perhaps it awaits a knight worthy of sitting so close to the King.
Your mind wanders briefly as you muse on what noble deed might earn you the honor of taking the seat.
When all are seated comfortably,
Arthur raises both hands into the air in a gesture of welcoming.
He's called you here,
He says,
To celebrate and reflect on all of your accomplishments over the last year.
This day will kick off seven days of games,
Hunts,
Tournaments,
And feasting before you are all free to return to your homes and adventures.
Soon a magnificent feast is brought before you.
It takes several people to hoist the majestic roast boar into the hall.
Quickly the table is laden with splendid pies and puddings and your goblets are filled to the brim.
You can't remember having a feast so scrumptious in your entire life.
The hall rings with laughter and the clink of glasses.
Before long,
Bellies full and eyes glazing over,
A contented quiet falls over the hall.
Platters and dishes are whisked away and candles and torches are lit to counter the waning dusk outside the windows.
The king commands the attention of the brood once more.
As he speaks,
Your eyes follow a mysterious man cloaked in forest green robes who hovers at the perimeter of the hall.
The man's hood falls just enough to remove the shadow from his brow and you recognize him as Merlin,
The great sorcerer and advisor to Arthur.
He's always had an air of mystery about him,
But his deep,
Kind eyes betray a gentle heart and a well of compassion for all who gather at the king's table.
Indeed,
You can hardly remember an occasion or gathering so infused with love and tender friendship.
You turn your attention back to Arthur,
Who asks for the happiest tidings of the year past.
Anyone with glad news or joy to share should come forward.
A bearded man across the table from you stands,
Clears his throat and shares the news of the birth of his first son.
He blushes and smiles as the guests erupt into a chorus of cheers.
Others stand one by one and describe tournament victories in less Britain or encounters with pirates or other quests and achievements.
Fetches met with applause and acclaim and the king looks mightily pleased.
As the nights grow weary and few look willing to stand and speak,
Arthur gestures to his right-hand man,
Sir Lancelot,
To share his recent victories.
Lancelot,
Humble to a fault,
Is reluctant to stand despite several of his friends pleading to hear his tales of honor and chivalry.
Then,
You hear a gasp from the far side of the table and a whisper of awe sweeps through the voices around you.
You look first to the king,
Whose eyes are shining,
Looking up toward the center of the room.
Trying to see what he sees and gazing upward,
You behold nothing less than a miracle.
Hovering a few meters above the center of the round table is a golden,
Glimmering orb of alarming size.
It shines like the sun,
Dazzling and almost impossible to look upon.
And yet,
You cannot bring yourself to turn away.
Every person in the hall has their gaze fixed upon it,
You sense,
With the same transfixed wonder.
The longer you stare,
The more the dense core of light at the orb's center begins to soften at the edges,
As though there's something more to behold if you can only look beyond it.
You try your best to make it out,
Nebulous as the object may be.
There are smooth curves,
A basin or a bowl,
Perhaps.
It's impossible to see where the object ends and the luminescence of it begins.
But in the uncertainty,
A swell of resolve blooms in your heart.
You feel called toward it,
Moved to act as though this vision represents your chance at last to take the seat at the side of the king you admire so much.
And then in an instant,
The specter vanishes,
Leaving the hall in awestruck silence.
The knights glance furtively at their friends and neighbors as though each of you wonders if anyone else beheld the same vision.
Then the king addresses the mystified crowd,
His voice full of reverence and amazement.
It's clear to him that you have all gathered for a reason,
Though not as he had hoped,
For a week of tournaments and games.
Rather,
You were all brought together by a higher power to receive a significant charge.
Those of you who are willing and able must,
The king says,
Depart at first light to seek the grail.
The hall bursts into conversation as each knight describes to his tablemates the shape and size of the grail in their vision.
Some claim to have heard a voice or music.
Others swear the grail was born by an angel.
Some describe the grail as a jewel-encrusted goblet made of pure gold.
Some say it appeared as a simple rough-hewn cup.
To some,
A flat serving dish.
To others,
A cauldron overflowing with food and drink.
One knight even claims it was a glimmering stone with emerald hue.
It seems no knight can agree on what they saw.
A general air of excitement hangs over the gathering as the knights fantasize about the glory of achieving such a noble quest.
Gawain leans toward you and mutters that the two of you should set out together.
And you agree.
You've always made a good team,
After all.
But then he insists you take off tonight.
In his words,
To head off Lancelot.
It's a fine idea.
Minutes ago,
Before the golden vision,
You would have welcomed the rush of sleep.
But now,
You feel the urge to follow your quest as soon as possible.
When the fervor finally dies down and the moon rises high outside the castle walls,
King Arthur bids you all good night and departs for his bedchamber.
Sleeping arrangements have been made throughout the castle for the knights visiting from far off kingdoms,
Many of whom will curl up with blankets in this very room.
But you and Gawain,
Taking advantage of the hustle and bustle of the changeover of the great hall to a shared bedchamber for a hundred,
Slip out quietly into the moonlight and make for the stables.
Gawain is disarmingly affectionate toward his horse,
Gringolet.
He's a courteous knight,
Of course,
And a great admirer of ladies.
But as he coos and strokes the horse's neck,
You have the distinct impression that no woman holds Gawain's heart the way Gringolet does.
You both mount your horses and with a glance back at the castle,
Stately and silhouetted against a moonlit sky,
You depart to seek the grail.
You ride through the night over hill and dale,
And Gawain regales you with stories of the maidens he's rescued and beasts he's pursued.
He's a wonderful storyteller,
And you've looked up to him since you were a child.
Now you long to earn such a story of bravery and nobility.
You return to the unspoken hope that this might be your chance.
The countryside is quiet,
Save for the hum of insects and the occasional tremulous call of a tawny owl.
You've ridden east,
More on a hunch than anything,
And just as dawn's rosy fingers arise on the horizon,
You come upon a dense forest.
It stretches out as far as the eye can see before you,
With no apparent route around it.
Into the woods then,
Says Gawain,
A mischievous smile on his lips,
And he kicks at Gringolet's sides.
You spur your horse to follow.
As you enter the wood,
Your jaw drops at the towering majesty of the trees which extend into the heavens.
You welcome the scent of pine and spruce which invigorate your senses.
The morning light is just beginning to cascade through the canopy,
Golden and sweet,
But as your eyes adjust,
All you see is sparkling green.
Gawain rides a few paces ahead,
Gringolet expertly navigating around a gathering of beech trees in the absence of a clear path.
Little birds above you respond to the burgeoning dawn with trills of song and activity.
The forest you think must be ancient by the size of the trees and the density of the vegetation.
You imagine the wonders this place must have seen.
If the trees could speak what tales they'd tell of wandering nights and lost damsels,
Archaic secrets must have seeped into the root systems only revealed in the trees' rings once cut down by an unlucky woodgatherer.
You and Gawain weave in and out of the thickets of trees in search of a coherent path for what might be ours,
Mostly in meditative silence.
You feel secure under the cover of the forest as though you've wandered into the circle of a powerful protection charm,
Something of Merlin's old magic.
As you travel deeper into the heart of the wood,
You almost recognize patterns,
Repetitions of clusters of trees or two perfect placements of fox gloves or other wildflowers.
It's as if the whole forest was perfectly designed by an unseen hand.
You imagine a beautiful fairy queen from one of your mother's bedtime stories floating through the forest on gossamer wings,
Arranging the flowers and branches and mushrooms in sacred organic symmetry.
You're brought out of this fantasy by a flash of white that streaks through the trees before you.
By the sudden alertness of his body language,
You know that Gawain has seen it too.
The white heart,
He says aloud.
I never thought we'd meet again.
In the instant before Gawain takes off,
You dimly recall the tales of the white heart you heard at your last visit to Arthur's court.
Years ago,
Before you were made a knight of the round table,
Gawain,
Lancelot,
Kay,
And many of Arthur's most accomplished companions competed to capture a mysterious,
Pure white stag.
Despite their most valiant efforts,
The heart eluded them all,
Leading Arthur and his knights to believe the beast had supernatural gifts.
Many times,
You've heard Gawain wax a Lajiag over his failed quest to capture the creature.
So it's no surprise that in the next instant,
Gawain is gone,
Spurring Gringolet to make haste after the heart and leaving you in the dust.
You urge your horse to follow suit,
And he darts through the trees after your companion.
During several minutes of chase,
Your horse navigating narrow pathways and you dodging branches overhead,
The vegetation thins and you slow your horse to a walk.
Squinting through the trees for a sign of your old friend and listening keenly for the snap of twigs or the rustle of leaves,
You conclude that you are now on your own.
But the thought somehow is not at all disquieting.
The forest feels kind,
If a bit mischievous,
Like an old friend or guardian.
An amusing thought crosses your mind that perhaps the white heart was sent to tempt Gawain,
Playing off his competitive nature and unwillingness to accept defeat.
You wonder how many other knights have now set off from Camelot,
Scattered to the four directions in the hunt for the grail.
Some may yet be headed for this very wood.
As you continue to ride,
Yawning from having traveled all night,
You find comfort in the gentle sway of the saddle.
Catching sight of blue iridescence in a tree ahead,
You are charmed to see a kingfisher perched upon a heavy branch.
Its wings and brow are a brilliant blue,
Its chest a buffy reddish brown,
And its bill is so long it looks as though it might topple forward at any moment.
You pull back on your horse's reins to slow him down.
The bird sits with noble stillness,
And you take great effort to avoid spooking it into fleeing.
It reminds you of childhood,
A mated pair of kingfishers nested near your family home,
Raising their young and delighting you with their antics.
You wonder if the appearance of this stately bird is a good omen for you,
Or if,
Like Gawain,
It intends to tempt you from your quest.
Just as you draw close enough to see the kingfisher's shining black eyes,
Your horse utters a grunt that startles it.
With a high,
Whistling call and a shimmer of lustrous blue,
The bird takes wing.
Your heart flutters,
But you're left with gratitude for the fleeting vision of beauty and comfort the kingfisher brought you.
Beyond the bird's abandoned branch,
You now see lies a glittering forest glade.
A hazy morning light picks up a greenish hue and plays patterns upon the grass and a carpet of bluebells.
Emerging from the thick wood into the clearing,
You notice a subtle change in the air.
The rich scent of soil and earth wanes,
Surely,
But there's also something of a charge in the atmosphere,
Something invigorating and intangible.
As you scan the glade for a direction to follow,
Or even a hint that where Gawain might have got to,
Your eyes meet those of a white heart.
Your breath catches.
He's a majestic creature with an almost otherworldly opalescence.
It's not hard to understand why your companion was so drawn to him.
You too feel a smoldering desire to capture the beast as though his very existence stimulates intense craving.
But something holds you back from going after him,
And it seems that the heart feels unthreatened by your presence.
After holding your gaze for a length of time impossible to estimate,
He bows his head and returns to grazing idly on the grass.
Then he moves on,
Ambling languidly across the clearing.
You nudge at your horse's sides to follow at a safe distance,
Though you're not entirely sure why.
It's just a feeling,
An instinct,
That the heart leads the way to something miraculous.
But the path will only clear for the pure of heart.
You follow the stag into a far opening into deeper wood,
And for the first time a recognizable path extends out before you.
The heart stops to graze on mushrooms or leaves every few minutes,
And you hold your careful distance.
At each pause he looks back at you for just a moment,
Then continues on his way.
It's as though an understanding is forming between you,
Along with a quiet respect.
At this deliberate pace you surrender to the navigation of the heart,
Letting the rains fall and giving in to your horse's soporific sway and the intoxicating scent of nightcap flowers.
If it weren't for the tiny seed in your mind that yearns to see what lies at the end of the white heart's path,
You might climb down from your horse's back and lie down among the bluebells and the curling roots of the trees.
You ride for what seems like hours until the stag who stops once more to look back at you darts suddenly into a thicket of trees.
Once he's gone you blink silently for a few moments,
Stunned by his rapid departure and left wondering if he'd ever been there at all.
Was the white heart only a mirage of your weary,
Wandering mind?
But in his absence,
As you look through the parting trees,
Which bend toward each other across the path like an impeccable archway,
You swear you can see the silvery glitter of water ahead.
You bow to ride under the tangled arch of branches and emerge from the forest to behold an expansive,
Coruscating lake.
The sun,
Which indeed hangs at a late afternoon lull,
Catches and flashes against the placid surface.
As your eyes drink in the sight and search for where the lake ends,
You see that at the far side a rocky cliff grows into the rocketing spires of a castle.
It's enormous and austere,
Built of white stone that blends with the craggy landscape below.
Even with curiosity,
You realize that the trees surrounding the lake are not full and green and lush like the forest behind you,
But bare and fruitless as if they are frozen in the dead of winter.
Finally,
You focus on a dark spot at the center of the massive lake,
Which you recognize as a small boat.
A solitary figure sits in the stern of the boat,
Hunched and holding a fishing rod.
The surface of the lake reflects so much silver and white from the rocks and the castle that tower around its edges that the silhouette of the man in the boat looks almost black against the water.
Perceiving a small motion from within the boat,
You realize that the fisherman has seen you from afar and he soon pushes the oars to cut a path toward you.
You begin to make out the man's features as he rows the small boat closer to the shore.
He's of an indistinct age.
He's older than Arthur,
Surely,
But his features seem to shift from youthful to ancient with the changing light of passing clouds.
When he nears you,
His face breaks into a warm smile and deep,
Affable wrinkles crack at the corners of his eyes.
You feel calm and welcome in his presence.
When the boat steadies on the shore,
He reaches an arm toward you but does not stand.
He apologizes for the informality and asks that you excuse him from standing as he's recovering from an injury.
He can see,
After all,
By your arms and bearing that you are a knight of Arthur,
The High King.
The fisherman asks you to join him in the boat so he might deliver you to the castle for a good meal and a warm place to rest from your journey.
The king would never turn away one of Arthur's knights.
He remarks that you must have traveled all night and day from Camelot,
So you must be desperate for food and respite.
He is right,
And your sheer desire for sleep is enough to overcome any hesitation.
The fisherman assures you that if you ask at the castle,
One of the king's men will ride round to attend to your horse and bring him to the stables.
Tying your horse to a tree and giving him a reassuring pat,
You climb into the boat,
Which,
Though small in size,
Is roomy enough for two to sit comfortably.
The fisherman rows intentionally across the lake,
And the boat rocks gently back and forth.
On the way,
You ask about the bare trees that grow upon the cliffs,
Leafless even in May.
The fisherman tells you that many years ago,
So many he's lost count,
The king of this country was blighted with a curse.
That night,
The kingdom was transformed into a wasteland,
Barren,
And unable to bear fruit.
For many moons,
The king has waited here for one of Arthur's knights to break bread at his table and teach him to heal the land.
By the time the fisherman's tale is complete,
The boat reaches the distant shore.
He wishes you a pleasant stay and points the way to the path to the castle.
It's a steep uphill climb,
And by the time you reach the top,
You're ready to collapse from exhaustion.
You spare a look down at the lake,
Which sparkles in the afternoon sun.
From here,
You can see where the stark,
Barren white trees of the waste kingdom meet the flowering fullness of the forest.
There is magic afoot.
Somewhere beyond the lake,
Among the green glades,
Your friend Gawain must still be hunting his elusive heart,
Or else he's fallen into the arms of the fairy queen.
You'll meet again soon,
You're sure.
You pass through the gates into the White Castle,
Which,
Though considerably less opulent than Arthur's,
Is fine and regal in its own way.
An attendant relieves you of your belongings and shows you to the main hall,
Which is smaller than the one at Camelot,
But bedecked with tapestries and lit with flickering candles.
A fire roars in the grand fireplace,
Before which a long,
Narrow table serves as the centerpiece.
You ask if there's someone who can attend to your horse,
A chestnut tied at the far shore of the lake,
And the attendant whistles for one of his associates to meet your request.
You're shown to a seat of honor at the table,
And the attendant tells you that you will be dining with the king.
No sooner is this spoken than three huddled people emerge from the archway past the fireplace.
You're astonished when the light falls upon the face of the king,
Who's supported by two young men,
One hoisting below each arm and helping him into the hall.
It's none other than the fisherman whose boat you just left.
Now in the gleam of the firelight,
With a simple crown atop his head,
He looks grand and dignified.
You leap out of your seat to kneel and show deference to the lord of the castle,
But he motions for you to sit and be comfortable.
You are,
After all,
A knight of King Arthur's,
To whom he is also loyal.
The fisher king,
Whose name is Braun,
Takes his seat across the table from you with the assistance of his men.
A modest but delicious meal is brought before you,
All the ingredients imported from nearby kingdoms,
As Braun explains,
Since nothing grows within the borders of his.
As you eat and drink your fill,
The warmth of the fire making your gaze swim,
You and King Braun talk of many things,
Of the splendor of Arthur's court,
The legends that surround his advisor Merlin,
The mysteries that lie in the lands beyond Britain.
When the king asks about you,
Your history,
And knightly ambitions,
You admit you haven't as many stories as your fellows,
Like Sirs Lancelot and Gawain.
And now you hesitate,
For though you feel an innate comfort and trust in the king,
You are unsure of whether to impart the nature of your quest.
A questioning silence falls over the room.
Both you and the king have finished eating,
And you feel the drowsiness wash over your mind and body.
In the still,
A youth enters from the archway,
Carrying a shining lance,
Grasping it by the shaft.
He passes slowly by the fire,
And your gaze follows.
A looming shadow cast upon the flagstone floor grows in size,
Then shrinks and rejoins the youth as he passes out of the hall.
You watch him go,
Then turn your eyes back to King Braun,
Who gazes fixedly at you,
Not with surprise at what you just witnessed,
But with a studied seriousness.
You open your mouth to ask about the boy with the lance,
But you decide against it.
There's something tangled in the mystery behind the king's eyes that gives you pause.
Then two other youths enter,
Carrying candelabras of fine gold inlaid with enamel.
In each candelabra,
At least 10 candles burn.
And behind the youths,
A young woman enters from the darkness of the archway.
She carries a grail.
When she enters the room,
The grail she holds gives off such intense effulgence that the candles lose their brilliance,
Just as the stars do when the sun or moon rises.
The grail is fashioned of fine gold and all kinds of precious stones,
Among the richest and most prized from land and sea,
Adorn it.
The grail passes before the fire with this solemn procession,
Its sumptuous jewels glinting in the fire's warm glow,
And disappears,
Along with the candles and the quivering shadows into the next room.
A flood of questions surge through your mind,
Slowed and swirled by a swell of stupor and sleepiness.
You feel you've seen a glimpse of all manner of mysteries this day,
From the knowing eyes of the white heart to the curse of the fisher king,
Now the apparition and dissolution of the grail.
You want to ask where the procession was headed.
You want to ask whom the grail serves.
What are its secrets?
But in the roaring glow of the fire,
Your mind and muscles weary.
You ask no questions at all.
The courses are cleared away,
And the king's attendants come to carry him to his chambers.
He bids you good night,
And you think you can see a glint in his eye,
One of distant,
Unquenchable hope,
Perhaps.
You're shown to your rooms in the west wing of the castle.
A narrow window looks out over the lake,
Which ripples in the breeze and picks up the hues of the azure gloaming.
The trees of the green forest sway with the same breeze,
As though the canopy itself is a rippling surface of water.
How far away is Camelot,
You wonder?
How are your friends faring on their quests?
And is the grail truly here,
Within the halls of the Fisher King's castle with you?
Tomorrow,
You think.
You'll ask the questions.
You'll find the answers tomorrow.
You feel as though you could sleep for days.
Just before turning toward the bed,
You catch a flash of striking iridescent blue,
Which streaks across the mirrored lake.
It's followed by a high-pitched,
Whistling call.
You smile sleepily.
A kingfisher is a good omen.
You climb between the heavy wool blankets and sigh deeply,
Releasing the strain of the hours on horseback.
It takes only a moment to quiet your mind and succumb to sleep.
In your dreams,
A white heart leaps through the trees,
Pursued by the galloping gringlet.
A kind man fishes endlessly on a silver lake,
And a golden grail makes its glittering procession through the infinite halls of the castle of sleep.
Sweet dreams.
