Adjectives in the Spring

I don't know how many of you will "get" this. It spilled out hurriedly when I intended to do something else.


It was October. And October meant spring: sharp, wild storms followed by wide, crisp, sunny days still yet too cold for much outdoor activity without a thick coat; orchards roofed with a delicate thatch of white and pink blossoms; green buds opening to the chilly nip of the wind; days beginning to grow longer and richer golden light in the evenings.
It also meant white-baiters. In their tall black boots and heavy ugly waders, they tramped along the sands of the beach and rivers, despoiling the banks with haphazard baiting-stands and deep, muddy trails: the new flowers uncaringly trampled underfoot. Axes hewed the bothersome branches off trees who had stood quietly in the river-woods minding their own business until the white-baiters decreed in their foolhardiness their ruin only to erect their corrugated iron squatter’s huts. The sacred glades were defiled, ancient treasure troves broken open and rifled, filth strewn on the dancing lawns.
Deep in the woods the black hearts of the trees were stirred to wrath. In the eyes of the woodland lords a deep green flame was kindled. The Lesser Folk showed to them their unbounded sorrow: the houses destroyed and wives, children and brothers slain by ignorance and pride. Mighty they rose up: the woodland kings and their fair queens. Their spears shone bright like the gleam of dawn, their helms like the sun and paling stars. They allied with the dark savages, their natural foe, whose hands were ready on their deadly bows, against the common threat. The blood of the faeries was swift to rise, and they harkened at the silver horns of the Kings and Queens.
And there was battle ‘neath the trees.
The invaders were put to fight. Like madmen they fled and lamented loudly when they saw their brothers laid low. Their huts given over to the flame, their stands cast deep into the river-water. The dirty white nets were set on high poles to fly loose in the wind as white banners of victory.
‘Now, children!’ cried the woodland king, ‘May we feast and dance through the night. May songs be sung and may a great victory fire be set on the silver sands to roar with warmth. May there be joy and merriment forevermore!”
From the safe shadows afar lurked the pirates, in the outer darkness. They watched the jamboree in darkling dismay, but they were barred from joy.