ONCE UPON A TIME there was a damsel, dark of hair and smooth of cheek, an urban-dwelling one was she. Her castle, a fine Victorian dwelling, her kingdom, a tony Saint Paul neighborhood. Life was easy; coffee shops & boutiques. Dinner al fresco & breakfast croissants. Life was all she could want.
The damsel had a peculiar habit, the riding of fine steeds, which she enjoyed very much indeed. But something was amiss, something was not right. It kept her awake night after night. Was it this life of ease was not to be? A niggling thought was creeping in, a worm of doubt was about to begin.
The damsel became restless, a seed was planted and it would grow. The poor, hapless man, he did not know. He did not know his world was turning upside down, that he would be moving to the other side of town.
The damsel, she did plead, she even wheedled we must concede, to have her way! The hapless man did try to sway the damsel from this path she laid, but nary a word could win the day.
So in the winter of cold and frost came the damsel to her heart's delight. Inside her dwelt a sliver of fright, for she was in a land unfamiliar and so dark of night. A land of strangers and imagined dangers, but a land so full of promise and mangers.
In this land the damsel has dwelled, long years have passed, but she's lived them well. The damsel is light of hair and rough of cheek, it's been a land not meant for the meek. The ease has gone, the life has changed. But in this land the damsel shall remain.