Come away, oh human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand...
I've enjoyed Whitacre's setting of "the Stolen Child" many times before, but never have I felt the urge to answer the faery's call. Had one come to pull me through my windshield, I don't know if I could have resisted. Thankfully for my back-seat passenger, no such nymph appeared. Common sense prevailed, and my eyes abandoned the ridge for the road to guide us safely home.
Ever after, when appointments or errands take me south of the river, I'll search that ridge upon my return. I rather doubt that constant vigilance can reproduce what chance once brought together, but a second glimpse of woodland sprite would be worth a thousand empty glances.