Moorish Tracery - Iron Alchemy

At the Abbey forge a blacksmith works, -
"Shield yer eyes!" he calls to the small
girl, curiously watching the bright flames.
Instantly, she withers into the shadows,
to know them.
She watches the trees make traces in
shadows on the walls, at home in the
invisible guise of a child.
She knows the smith is Moorish, working
against the clock, beating the iron into shapes
of beauty and wonder. No wonder she was
not allowed to look, as creation was taking
place in the bright coals, the flames, the
muscles and sinew.
The trees are not Moorish, but watch, like
she does, at the procession of life, the
manual breaking and moulding and
mending of her ancestry. They are
not worried by age or creed, and know
but one.
The small girl laced her fingers behind her
back, and started to whistle like the
smith as he huffed and puffed in the effort
of progress. She whistled, like a young lad,
lovingly tracing the Moorish lacy iron patterns
on the wall, that the smith would use
for inspiration at the forge.

copyright Monika Roleff 2006.