These are stories from prompts at the Soul Food Cafe’s Lemurian Grand Tour/ Adventure Calendar. All the material contained here is copyright 2007 by She Wolf (Jane Wolfinbarger.)
Going Deeper In
Well, the Enchanteur has allowed me to join the journey around Lemuria. I am quite glad, because those who have lived here longer keep referring to things that are mysteries to me. I am quite excited! I pull out the backpack that I put away when I first arrived here, hot and dusty and thirsty for the sort of refreshment of the soul that one finds at Riversleigh, and start tossing in odds and ends. I don’t want to make it too heavy, but there are just some things I can’t leave without.
My journal goes in first, along with my favorite pens. I decide to toss in a backup journal, too. You just can’t have too much paper. Then there is a small blank-book without lines and my colored pencils. I keep telling my self that I will begin to draw again, and this may be a good time to do it. My wooden flute, a small package with my sock needles and some lovely shaded blue wool, and some spare woolly socks go in next. A change of clothing and a few toiletries follow; oh, these necessities for day to day living- I wish they didn’t take up quite so much space. And then, just because sometimes you need technology, a digital camera and a spare memory card. My bag is starting to look a little stuffed now, but I add small sachet of lavender because it smell so good, and a little worry stone for my pocket. I dig into my wardrobe and come up with a decent hat to wear. I will not take anything to read- this is hard for me, but I think I will be writing enough that I will not need take a book.
There! Now I am ready to go! I lean out the window and say goodbye to the butterfly man should he be listening, and shut the window behind me. I will be back soon, full of adventures and fresh tales for telling.
But what now? I mean, I am already at Riversleigh, already in Lemuria. How do I go on from here? I shrug, and remember the proverb that a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. I suppose that I should begin my journey by opening the door to my room and stepping through it. Then I will start to walk. I know the Enchanteur will find me soon enough and make sure I go where I need to be.
I open the door to my room- that infamous portal that goes to all sorts of places, and find that Enchanteur has used my own device against me. There is a mirror there, filling the entire door way. I see myself reflected in it, but not the room behind me. Instead, there is a grayish mist. I don’t look quite right, either. I look kind of- lopsided. I take stock of the reflection carefully, and find that what the mirror had done is exaggerate my, well, I won’t call them flaws, but my sticking points. Things that, if I work on them, will change me more into the person I want to be. I will need to accept these things if I want to journey deeper into Lemuria. I will find out more about myself as well as this wonderful land.
These sticking points are not things I am happy to look at, much less deal with. I take a deep breath and poke at the image with my finger. My finger sinks into the surface of the mirror, and little ripples go out into the rest of the image. I realize that I am stalling. There is no help for it. If I want to go on this tour, and I do, I will have to take a close and careful look at this reflection of myself, and step through it. In going deeper into Lemuria, I will also go deeper into myself. I open my eyes wide, and with one more deep breath, I step into the mirror image of myself.
I have a sensation like swimming, and an icy cold sweeps through me. I quickly surface, and find myself out in Lemuria, away from my beloved room at Riversleigh. The mirror is gone, but I feel something new in my pocket. I reach in, and alongside the worry stone is a small metal disc. It bears the image I saw in the mirror, but a little changed. Apparently, I have changed just by stepping through that portal. It will be interesting to see how it changes as I travel along.
I trip over a small bag on the ground at my feet. It has all sorts of things inside it, and I poke around, examining each item. What will I need the spectacles for? Dream seeds? That sounds intriguing. Candlestick, unicorn medallion, an anchor, wings? Strange and interesting things.
I tuck the bag in my back pack and take stock of my surrounding. It seems to be a cool autumn day, with the sun getting low on the horizon. I am in a lush meadow on a hill side, with wooded hills rolling away in the distance and a river flowing through the valley below me. There is a track going into the distance, and I step onto it willingly, walking along with a happy stride.
Me and My Donkey
I walked down the track, and through the meadow. The flowers were full of butterflies and I thought again about the garden spirit, the butterfly man. I wondered if he or his cousins came to dance in fields of flowers like this one. A honeybee buzzed past, and birds flew overhead. I stepped into the shade of the trees at the edge of the meadow and into the woods. The track here was covered with pine needles and smelled nice and spicy when I walked on it. It was quiet in here, and cool. I could hear the birds singing and little creatures scampering in the leafy canopy above me. When I looked up I could see patches of blue sky. I could feel myself slowing down, enjoying the walk and the place. I tried to do a Zen thing and just be in the moment. It is hard for me, because my mind is always thundering along at a million miles an hour, but I thought about each breath of spicy air, and the texture of the tree bark, and the sound of the breeze and the birds.
By the time I came out the other side of the wooded patch, I was feeling centered and relaxed.
However, it was getting later and the track was showing no signs of leading anywhere but “over the hills and far away”, or like Tolkien’s road, going ever on and on. Unfortunately, while a wonderful adventure, this did not address the fact that in my happy hurry to get going, I had not brought matches, or food, or water, or a bed roll, or any of those practical things that I now seemed to need.
“Oh, BOTHER!” I grumped, my centered and relaxed feeling evaporating like dew on a hot morning.
“What is your problem?” I heard a grumpy voice from the edge of the trees behind me.
I turned around. All I saw was a little brown donkey.
“Don’t you have any manners? I asked what your problem was,” came the voice again. There was no one there but the donkey.
“Excuse me?” I said politely.
“Oh, are you hard of hearing? I didn’t know,” said the voice again.
“No, I can hear just fine. I’m just trying to figure out where you are,” I replied.
The voice chuckled. “I’m standing right here in front of you. You’re staring right at me. You know, for someone who talks to butterfly men, you sure are set in your ways of thinking. Just because I’m a donkey, you decide I can’t possibly be the one talking to you. I can see you’ve got a lot to learn.”
“Oh…” was all I could say.
“Now come on over here and put your bag on my back. It’s getting late and we have a lot to do before it gets dark By the way, my name is George.”
“I’m She Wolf. Only, really, since the Wolf who runs here is far beyond anything I could be, I’m just an apprentice She Wolf.” I slung my bag on his back and tied it down with the straps there, and we set off down the track. “So, George, where are we going?” I asked.
“Well, in a little bit, on the other side of the river, we will join up with the road to Owl Creek. We’ll get there sometime tomorrow, I hope. There are some camping things up ahead, along with some other things you’ll need once we get to the mine.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard there was a mine to visit.”
“Yes, and you’ll need to know about it. There’s some information in that little leather case on the other side of my harness.”
I reached over and untied the straps holding the case on. As we walked, I read about the Alluvial Mines and mining. “Boy, there’s an awful lot of information here,” I said.
“Just take your time. Don’t try to absorb it all at once. Read it over again later, and try a few of the exercises later. That’s what everyone else does,” said my new four-footed mentor.
So I read it and thought about it and looked all around me for the rest of the way down the side of the very large hill.
At the bottom was the river. Right here it was fast and strong, not a good place to ford it at all. I said so to the donkey. “Maybe we should walk up and down a little ways, and find a better place to cross,” I said.
“Nope. You need to cross it here. Do you see that island?”
“Yes…” The island was in the middle of the river a little way downstream. It looked pleasant, with trees on it, and a sandy beach. The river around it looked a bit wild, though.
“Well, you need to get to that island. That is where the camping things and the other things you’ll need are cached.”
Oh. Well. I finally squeaked, “Over there?”
“Over there.” He confirmed.
“How am I supposed to get over there?” I asked.
“Well, the best way is just to get in the water and swim,” said the donkey. “It’s cold, but not that cold. Besides, after the walk you’ve had today, you could use a little bath.” He snickered.
“Smart ass,” I said, before I thought.
“Why thank you!” he preened, and snickered again.
When he saw that I was hesitating, he said, “Look, sometimes, you need to just have faith, jump in, and do something. I am telling you this is safe- well, sort of- and you just need to take that leap. I’ll follow along with your bag.”
I took my shoes and socks off, and my hat, and put them in my backpack on top of the mule, and waded into the water. It dropped off almost immediately, and I found myself up to my neck in ice-cold water, being swirled around wildly. At least there were no rocks here. I remembered my goal of the island, and tried to steer myself in that direction. Fortunately, the current seemed to go that way anyway, because I was having no luck trying to control my ride in the river. With the help of the current, I was soon deposited on the sandy little beach, sodden and coughing a little, but exhilarated.
The donkey walked out of the water beside me, and asked, “So, how did you like your little swim?”
“Strangely, I enjoyed it. It was a wild, exciting ride!” I said.
“Good. You’ll get plenty of chances to go again; there are branches of this particular river all over the place. It takes a little practice, but you do learn to steer through the currents and make it take you where you want to go.” He looked smug. “Yup, theRiver of
Creativity can be very powerful, and tons of fun, but it can also be frightening. Some people never get over their fear enough to even try it, let alone get used to guiding themselves through it. I thought you’d be the sort to enjoy it. Now, go look in those trees over there, and you’ll find the things we need for the night.”
I found a little tarp covered cache of camping things, along with some food for me and a nosebag of oats for my four-legged friend. The Enchanteur had remembered to include all those things I had bounced off and forgotten, like matches, a pocket knife and a canteen- I was very, very grateful.
There was a camping spot there already, so I made a fire in the fire ring and boiled some water for a cup of tea- the Enchanteur had been kind enough to leave me a tin mug and some of my favorite Earl Grey tea. I dried off by the fire while we ate our dinners. The donkey and I talked for a while, and I wrote in my journal about the events of the day.
Then I remembered the little metal mirror I carried in my pocket, and taking it out, had another look at it. The image had changed, just a little tiny bit. I couldn’t even pinpoint exactly what had changed, only that it had. I put it back in my pocket. Then I lay back on the bedroll and watched the stars that dazzle the clear Lemurian sky wheel overhead until I fell asleep with the sound of the River like a lullaby
Mixing Metaphors - Er, Tales
It was still early when I woke up, but it’s hard to sleep with a donkey braying in your ear. George said it was time to get up, and believe me, I didn’t have it in me to argue with him. After a quick breakfast, I packed all the gear on George’s back. Then he nodded to some bushes on the other side of the clearing. “You’ll want the mining stuff over there, too.”’
I rummaged out the package of mining gear and attached that to his back, as well. Finally, I poured water in the fire pit and started towards the beach.
“Where are you going?” asked the donkey.
“I’m going back over to the river, so we can get over to the trail and head for Owl Creek,” I answered. “Why?”
He snorted. “Well, unless you really want to go for a swim, and it’s a little chilly for that this morning, I suggest you follow me.” He started to walk to the other end of the little island.
I shrugged and followed him. At the far end of the island, there was a wide, shallow ford going over to the far shore. It took only a few minutes to wade across here. “That was much easier,” I said.
“Yup. Not everything’s got to be hard. Just some things.” And he walked off down the trail, leaving me to my socks and hiking boots.
It didn’t take long for our little trail to wander back up hill. “We should meet the main road in about an hour,” George told me, as we puffed up a steep section of the trail. “There should be other people on the road, and it won’t be quite so lonely for you.”
“I don’t mind,” I told him. “You’re good company, too.” Then I reached over into my pack and pulled out my little wooden flute. I amused myself for the next quarter hour by trying to work out a tune the minstrel had played over at the Taverna di Muse a few nights ago. The donkey kindly kept his thoughts on that to himself. I thought that was fair, after the way he woke me up.
I was wrapped up in trying to work out a fingering when I heard George groan, “Oh, no.”
I looked up to see a huge dirt slide going across the path. It seemed to go on for quite a ways, but it didn’t look impassible; a little difficult, maybe, but not impossible to get across.
I put away my flute and prepared to step onto the slide. “Don’t.” said George.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” I said. “I think we can get across.”
“Trust me. Don’t.” he repeated.
Well, I didn’t listen. I stepped onto the scree, and all of a sudden, I was on a ride downhill. It was like slipping down hill on ice. The stuff just flowed and I went with it. I managed to stay on my feet for a little bit, but soon I landed on my posterior in the dirt avalanche.
I finally stopped about 50 feet downhill, and looked up. I saw George peering over the side of the road at me. “You okay?” he called down.
“Just ducky!” I growled as I picked gravel out of my socks. “Just peachy!”
“I don’t like to say I told you so…” began my sarcastic guide.
“Then don’t.” I replied, climbing to my feet and hiking back up the steep hillside. By the time I made it to the top, I was covered with briar scratches in addition to the dust and dirt that I had acquired on my impromptu ride down the hill.
Puffing, I reached for the canteen, and then said, “So what do we do now?”
“Simple,” the donkey said, “We go back and take the long way around.”
“Go back?!” I cried, “But we’re so close!”
“Yes, but we can’t get there this way. Sometimes you have to back up and regroup, find a new way to do things.” George replied placidly. “I’m a donkey. They only thing I’ m ever in a hurry for is my dinner. We’ll get there, a little later rather than sooner, but that happens sometimes. At least we have another route we can take.” While he was talking, he turned around and was walking back down the way we had just come. I hurried behind him.
He continued, “It won’t add too much onto the trip. We’ll just get there tomorrow instead of today. You can spend the extra time getting ready for the mine. It’s not a bad idea, anyway, you know. That mining can be a little bit strenuous.”
He was quite for a little bit. I was still quietly sulking. He spoke again. “You tend to be a little bit impatient, don’t you?”
“Yes, and?”
“Well, being a little more patient is usually a good thing. Means you take that one last look at something, make sure it’s right. You don’t go off in a rush and leave things behind that you might need,” here he glanced over at me, “or leave out some detail in a story that you really need to make it work. That little extra time can mean a big difference sometimes.”
I had to admit he was right. I did need to be more patient. Sometimes, though, waiting was terribly difficult. We walked along in silence for about half an hour, and came to a branch off the path that I had missed seeing earlier.
“This will take us to the road, too, just farther away from Owl Creek. We’ll end up spending more time on the road, that’s all.”
By the time we had gone on for another hour, I had completely recovered my good humor. I was reading more about the Mines, and trying to do some more preparatory work before actually getting to them.
George told me that we were finally getting near the main road, when we both heard rustling in the bushes by the road.
“Is someone there?” I called.
“I should hope so!” came a voice way down low in the bushes. “I am definitely Someone!” A small tabby cat came waltzing out onto the path. “I am Someone, and I am going to Owl Creek to seek my fortune!”
“Are you, then?” said the donkey.
“Yes! I think they must be in need of good mousers there, and I am the best. My littermates and I cleaned out the barn where we were born and had to leave home to make our own ways in the world.” He sat and washed his shirt front. “So, I am on the way to Owl Creek. Are you perchance going that direction? And would you care for another traveling companion?” He stood up, wound his way through my legs and bumped his head against me.
The donkey answered first. “Of course. The more the merrier. Jump on.” And of course the cat did. He curled up on top of the packs and started purring right away.
A few more turns down the path, there was a dog, lying in the middle of the way, looking dejected.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked George the donkey.
“I have no home,” he replied. “There were too many puppies in my litter for the farmer to feed, so I left home. But I’m a dog, and I like having a home and hearth to come back to each day. I was thinking I would go the Owl Creek, because there are more people there, but I’m not sure which way to go.” He sighted sadly.
“Well,” I said, “If my companions agree, you can join us. We’re going that way.”
The cat said, “As long as you don’t chase cats, I don’t mind.”
The donkey said, “As long as you don’t nip at my heels, I don’t mind.”
So the dog joined us.
This was beginning to feel a little familiar. All we needed now was a rooster.
Sure enough, he was around the next bend.
We saw the jaunty young rooster scratching at the dirt of the path, looking for bugs. He heard us behind him and looked up. “Oh! Hello! Am I in the way? So sorry. I was looking for bugs. A bit hungry, you know. Too many young roosters on my farm, not enough grain.”
“And I suppose you have set out to find a new home, possibly in Owl Creek, where there aren’t as many other roosters and you will have plenty to eat?” I asked.
“Why, yes! How did you know?” he replied.
“Just a lucky guess.” I said. “At least the name of the town isn’t
Bremen.”
That earned me some funny looks from all of them.
“Anyway, we are going that way if you wish to join us. By the way, none of you have any musical tendencies, do you?” Again they looked at me very strangely, but they all said no. The rooster jumped up on the pack behind the cat, and off we went.
Soon we came to the main road, and while there were a few more travelers, there weren’t a lot of them. Twice as many of them were coming towards too, either, which seemed a little odd., The donkey was the first to notice this. “Unless I miss my guess, there is something going on here,” he said.
We weren’t much farther on when we found out what.
There was a little bridge across a small stream- not Owl Creek, but a tributary. People were stopping at the bridge and talking to a very ugly old man. They sounded very unhappy- angry, in fact- but after a few minutes, they crossed the bridge. There were a large number of people camped on the far side, too. The old man, however, looked positively gleeful.
When we came up to the bridge, he hurried over to us, crying, “Pay the toll! Pay the toll!” The old man was not only very ugly, he had enormous sharp teeth and very long, sharp, dirty fingernails. His arm muscles bulged beneath his shirt.
George the donkey was quite offended. “This is not now and never has been a toll road!” he exclaimed. “Le Enchanteur would not have something like this on the road to Owl Creek!”
“What she doesn’t know doesn’t hurt me!” the man sneered. “Two gold pieces each for you and the person. The livestock I’ll let pass- this time.”
“Well, we don’t have the gold pieces,” I retorted.
“Then you can’t pass,” he stated with finality.
We backed up, out of hearing distance. “Why don’t we just go around?” I asked. “The stream isn’t that wide.”
“It would be better to get this fellow away from the bridge once and for all,” said the donkey. “I have a plan.”
We settled down like we were going to camp, and waited for darkness.
When night time came the ugly old man curled up with blankets in the middle of the bridge so that no one could get by without paying his toll, even at night. When he seemed to be asleep, we put our plan into action.
First the rooster walked across the bridge. Tick, tick, tick went his claws on the wood.
“Who’s crossing my bridge?” said the man.
The rooster clucked under his breath.
“Oh, just the rooster,” said the old man, and he went back to sleep.
Next, the cat walked across. Pad, pad, pad, went his paws on the wood.
“Who’s crossing my bridge?” said the man.
The cat meowed.
“Oh, just the cat,” said the old man, and he went back to sleep.
Then the dog walked across the bridge. Ticker-tacker, ticker-tacker, ticker-tacker went his claws on the bridge.
“Who’s walking on my bridge?” said the man.
The dog woofed.
“Oh, just the dog,” said the old man, and he went back to sleep.
Now that our companions were on the other side, the donkey and I got ready for our part.
We walked onto the bridge, one of us on each side. Clop, clop, clop went the donkey’s hooves on the bridge. Thump, thump, thump went my boots on the bridge. One of us was on one side, one on the other, blocking the bridge.
The old man sprang up immediately. “I told you,” he roared, “That you must pay a toll to CROSS MY BRIDGE!”
He was being so loud that he didn’t hear the dog, the rooster, and the cat run up behind him. The dog ran into the backs of his legs knocking him off balance, the cat ran through his legs, and I gave him a push, knocking him down. The rooster jumped on top of him, spurring him with his claws as he went. The man screamed with rage and leapt up again and turned, ready to run after the animals. When he turned around, the donkey whirled and gave a mighty kick with his back legs. The wicked old man flew through the air and landed with a splash in the stream down below.
All the people who had been camping and waiting for a chance to cross the bridge had been awakened by the noise, and came out see what was going on. When they saw the man fly through the air and splash into the creek, they cheered. Then they ran down to the water with ropes and tied him up before he could get away from them. His big sharp teeth and long sharp fingernails and bulging muscles weren’t so frightening when he was stunned and soaking wet.
We broke our camp and went a little farther down the road for the night, with our new traveling companions. Tomorrow we would see Owl Creek. I pulled out my mirror. Sure enough, it had changed again.
4 Responses to “Mixing Metaphors- er, Tales”
Alluvial Appeasements
My body is granite, deep and strong
My veins are slick quartz
Running deep within me
And my blood, it runs golden.
I flex in the rain and the wind
I flex in the heat and the cold
And as I flex, little pieces of me
Slough off and fall loose
Little bits of my quartz veins
Flecks of my golden blood
Slough off and fall loose
For miners to wash loose
And scrape up
And gain my gold, my golden blood.
Those who know me
Know my ways
Learn to seek down inside me
Find the source
Of all the bits
Of all the flecks
That slough off and fall loose
They learn to sink right down inside me
And bring up deep buckets
Of my golden blood
My priceless golden blood
To refresh their souls.
What is their sacrifice?
Their pain and suffering
Their joy and pleasure
Their time and dedication
Themselves.
3 Responses to “Alluvial Appeasements”
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edit this on 05 Apr 2007 at 10:00 pm1
Heather BlakeyNow the Keeper of the Mine is well satisified Jane. You may enter and go deep within to that rich vein of gold that lies waiting to be mined.
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edit this on 05 Apr 2007 at 10:37 pm2
quinncreativeThe mine seems to have revealed much to you and your spirit!
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edit this on 06 Apr 2007 at 9:11 am3
jan2I love the vigour of these lines, there is a real sense of physical and emotional power, grit, determination. Nothing will stop you - strident intent.
Lissa and Theo - Magic From the Mines
After I placed my appeasement in the box, the Keeper of the Mines took me to meet my home host. Lissa was a shy young girl, who smiled and said nothing when we were introduced.
“Don’t let her fool you. She may be young, and she may be shy, but Lissa here knows as much about the mines as anybody around here. She was following her daddy down those shafts as soon as she could toddle. Last year when she moved out on her own, she decided to be a home host. And she’s a good one!” The Keeper of the Mine beamed at Lissa, who still didn’t say anything, but smiled back.
“Got your stuff? Good. You just follow Lissa now and she’ll take care of you. Lissa floated out the door, as if she had wings instead of feet, and I clumped along behind her. We walked for a short way to the edge of town, and a neat little cottage with a picket fence and flowers growing everywhere. I could see vegetables growing in amongst the flowers and spied more growing around the sides of the house. The windows were open, and I could hear a canary singing his heart out inside.
“Come on in.” Lissa had a sweet, quiet voice. She opened the front door to a busy front room full of quilts and embroidered pieces. Watercolors of botanicals hung on the walls, and there were skeins of yarn in brilliant hues hanging near the fireplace, where a spinning wheel sat like a cat on the hearth rug. We walked through to the kitchen, where more yarn hung and a dye pot simmered on the stove. The table was painted in bright colors and traditional stencil patterns, with hand-woven place mats and napkins on each side. There was a clear vase with flowers in the middle of the table.
“I’ll get us some tea and scones, if you like. Dinner will be later.” She spoke so softly that I had to listen carefully.
“Sure. Tea and scones would be fine,” I replied, and looked around the room some more.
The floor was slate with braided rugs scattered across it, and copper saucepans hug from the beams near the stove. The kettle that Lissa put on was shiny copper, too. The canary who was singing so industriously was in the window looking out over the back garden (again full of flowers and veggies as far as I could see) and to my surprise, I saw Someone, the cat, walking into the room. She walked over to me and wound around my ankles. “Well, I see you landed on your feet, too,” she said. “Lissa is wonderful. As long as I leave her little canary bird alone we will be fine. And the other birds, too,” she added, with a glance at Lissa, who nodded at her. She padded out of the kitchen and into the living room.
When the tea and scones and several sorts of cookies were in front of us, she sat down.
I was curious. “I understand the mines can be quite dangerous. That’s why we do so much preparation before we go down. How is it that you went down when you were so small?” I asked.
“My dad always took care that I was safe. I didn’t do any actual mining until I was old enough to understand what I was doing, but you know, to little ones, it’s instinctive, it’s play. They just know how to do these things. It’s only as we get older that we loose the ability to mine the alluvial mine. Dad just made sure that I never lost my ability from childhood to adulthood.” She shrugged and smiled.
“I think I see,” I answered.
“It’s not something that a lot of parents are willing to do, but as I said, Dad always kept me safe. And he’s pleased and proud of the miner I’ve become. When we’re done, I’ll show you some of the things I do.”
I found out that most of the plants in Lissa’s garden were good to use as dye stuffs, and she had a small flock of sheep on the edge of town, which was where she got her wool.
“I sell the wool I spin and dye, and the quilts I make. I also weave a little bit, and sell some of that, too.” She became bolder when talking about the things she loved to create.
The botanical sketches on the wall were hers, too, and there were several large, hand bound volumes with her records for dye mixes and results.
She showed me around the rest of the house. The other two rooms on the first floor were her bedroom, in the front, and her workroom in the back, which had French doors opening onto the garden and the same slate floors as the kitchen. It was full of fabrics and yarns and a huge loom, another spinning wheel, and plants hanging from the ceiling beams in bunches, drying. There was a cabinet full of embroidery fibers. There were two sewing machines, and a wall full of cloth in all sorts of colors. A table held more fabric and patterns. Near the doors at the back of the room were an easel and paints. I ooh and ahhed over all of it, and she blushed with pleasure.
When we went back out, I saw a fiddle on a table in the front room. “And is this yours, too?”
“No, much as I love it, music isn’t one of my abilities. I play a little on a recorder, but not too often. That belongs to my young man, Theo. He has just learned the mines, and is up there today. He should be back soon, and will join us for dinner.”
It was getting late, near sunset, and Lissa went back into the kitchen to finish up dinner. I sat in the pleasant front room and took out my knitting. It seemed right here.
A few minutes later, a tired looking young man came in the front door. He smiled, and said, “You must be She Wolf. The Keeper of the Mine told me you would be here. I’m Theo. It’s nice to meet you.” He smiled and shook my hand and reached for the fiddle. Tuning it quickly, he was soon lost in his music, and I was too. I was surprised when Lissa called us for dinner. Time had gone somewhere else, with the music.
Dinner was tasty and filling- a beef stew that had simmered all day on the back of the stove, bread fresh that morning, and a salad fresh from the garden. Beer brewed locally went with it, and there was apple pie for dessert. While we talked, Theo told us about his day at the mine. “It’s getting easier; I’ve found a good rich vein,” he said. He turned to me. “Tomorrow I will go up with you, to the mine. It’s exhilarating- you’ll see.”
I offered to help with the dishes, but Theo shooed me away, saying this was his job.
We retired to the front room where Lissa lit a fire, and sat down to spin. I picked my knitting back up, and Theo soon joined us again. He picked up his fiddle and created his magic once more. Later we talked, with Someone the cat purring in one lap after another, and Lissa pressed some of her exquisite yarn on me- I offered to pay her for it, but she refused. “There’s not much; it was an experiment. But I know you like the colors, and it will make a nice pair of socks. If you keep knitting at this rate, you’ll finish that pair and have nothing to knit for the rest of your journey.”
I looked at the sock in my hands- it was half done, in the course of this one evening. “It must be the magic effect of your fiddle!” I teased.
Theo looked serious. “That’s what I hope for,” he replied.
Lissa showed me my room soon after. It was up a tiny winding set of stairs in the kitchen. “When I decided to be a home host, I converted part of my attic to a little set of rooms for my guests,” she said. “There is a bedroom and a bathroom just for you to use.”
True to her word, there was a cheerful bedroom under the eaves, with a window seat over looking the back garden, and a small bathroom with an enormous tub. The other half of the attic was left for storage, she explained.
Handing me towels smelling of fresh air and lavender, and telling me to let her know if I need anything, Lissa left me to myself. I took a long, soaky bath in the huge tub, and then curled up under the bright quilt on the bed. Theo was playing his music again, and I fell asleep to dreams of sheep with thick warm fleeces chasing after brightly colored musical notes dancing beside a river.
2 Responses to “Lissa and Theo- Magic from the Mines”
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edit this on 08 Apr 2007 at 12:26 am1
Heather BlakeySomehow I think you have found the hosts of your dreams Jane. Is this the sort of place you have yourself, or the place you would like to have? Such an enchanting description. I will have to pop over and call in to Lissa and Theo’s.
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edit this on 08 Apr 2007 at 4:39 am2
shewolfy728Sadly, this is not the place that I have. My craft area is in my basement and is not nearly so well appointed. My garden, too, is very limited. Dogs and a very short growing season play havoc with that. However, I do have my dreams, and they are quite similar to Lissa’s place.
What Shall I Slough
What shall I slough? What useless old skin shall I squeeze out of and toss away?
Impatience- that one might be good. Or how about self-doubt? That’s a nasty one. But it is very deep in the layers of myself, and won’t come loose readily. I’ll have to work on that one.
Hmmm, sloughing. I need to learn to take the time to finish my work properly. That includes my knitting and embroidery. A big box full of completed projects that I never bothered to mat and frame, bags with pieces for a child’s sweater never blocked and sewn together, stories and poems written and tucked away without smoothing and editing, or rushed out to put on my blog before I read it that one last time, so I have to go back and edit it when I see an error later- all cured by a little more patience.
I’m not impatient with the process of creating, just with the polishing and finishing, the going back over things. Perhaps this is what I shall slough, and make an effort to polish the bits and bobs I create so that they are not hidden away in a box somewhere, or put out with incompletions and errors for all the world to see.
Procrastination, perhaps. That’s another one I could slough. There has been some discussion about that, and avoidance and distractions. I suppose it goes hand in hand with its brother impatience above, leaving those same boxfuls of completed work shoved away in a closet. Hmmm…
Choices for the moldy old skin I shall rid myself of - this is hard. I know some of the things that should go, but which one?
Finally, I think I have chosen; I’ll try the impatience today, I think, and the sloughing begins. I pull and scrape. It feels good, this letting go of things, but a little bit scary. I feel a bit naked. What if I need this later?
No, no, it has to go. It peels off in a cloudy bits, making a small heap on the floor. Finally, I finish and sweep it up, putting it in a pile with all the other sloughed pieces people have left here.
The Keeper of the Mine smiles warmly at me, and then says, “Good job. I know this isn’t easy. And it may try to grow back; in fact it almost certainly will, but you know now to be on guard for it, to slough it away each time you feel it growing back and accumulating again. Now, you are ready. Come with me, and put your hand in the handprint on the door.”
Depths of the Mine
When I stepped through the door, I found myself in a white swirling mist, seemingly lit from within. Barely seen muted wisps of colors slid by me in this mist and I grasped at them as they went by, only to find that they were insubstantial and slipped through my fingers. I went deeper into the cavern and the mist lightened a little bit. Now I could see flashes as of gold along the wall, dimmed by the thinning mist. I ran over to them, but they were not really there, either. They were just illusions, fed by desire, born from idle wishes for quick results, no more than fairy lights.
So I went deeper into the caverns, following a trail that I felt, rather than saw. The mist grew thinner and the cavern grew darker. I followed the cavern deep into the heart of the mountain. Finally, it grew so dark that I had to light my candle. (Funny, that- I had been in caves before, and usually when you pass the second bend, all, and I do mean all, the light is gone. Here, it went away slowly and gradually, along with the obscuring mist.)
By candle light, I slowly worked my way deeper and deeper into the mine, checking the walls as I went for signs of gold. The way grew narrow and the walls grew rougher. I was seeing bands of quartz in them, though, which was a good sign.
Finally, with my candle half gone, I squeezed through an opening into a small room that seemed to be a dead end. The milky quartz that formed it gleamed in the light from my candle, throwing reflections everywhere. It was fairly dry in here, and warmer than I had expected. There was a sandy spot in the middle of the floor with a smooth rock behind it, and I went over and sat down, leaning against the rock. For a few minutes, I watched the light from my candle skitter around the walls and then quite suddenly, my candle went out.
I was startled, but didn’t panic. I could relight it when I was ready. Instead, I sat in the complete darkness. I listened to my own breathing, felt my heart beating. I began to breath slowly and felt myself relax and slow down. I closed my eyes and then laughed at myself. It was so dark that having my eyes open or shut would make no difference, so I opened them again.
Breathe in, breathe out. Relax. Let your mind flow.
Then I saw it. A flash of gold. And then another. Flash after flash of gold came from around the room.
I got up, slowly, carefully, and went over to one of the golden gleams. I touched it, and it was real. I pried the nugget loose from the wall, and then went on to another. Nugget after nugget was added to my load.
Finally, with my hands and pack weighed down with the precious resource, I sat down again, in the deep darkness, feeling my way back to where I thought I remembered the sandy spot and rock being. Leaning back against the stone, I breathed slowly and deeply once more, and calmed myself from the excitement of finding so much hidden gold.
Then, feeling like I had done enough for one day, I lit my candle again. Once more the room glistened with the light dancing on the quartz vein. There was no gold to be seen, although I knew it was there. I had the proof in my pack and in my hands. Heavy, rich gold- I looked at it in the dim candlelight and marveled.
Slowly, I made my way back to the surface of the mine, following long passages that grew progressively lighter and brighter, easy passages filled with the false promise of quick riches, away from the true source of wealth hidden deep in the darkness of the mine.
When I reached the surface, the sun was setting in a crimson blaze and the air was crisp and fresh. I showed the keeper my gold, and she smiled at me, and nodded. I was exhausted, and slowly made my way back to town, to my host home.
One Response to “Depths of the Mine”
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edit this on 08 Apr 2007 at 11:02 pm1
Anita MarieI love adventure stories- and when they’re written as well as this- I have a good time.
thanks!
amm
The Gleam Within
Theo met me as I was walking back down the mountain to Owl Creek. He was empty handed, but looked very happy, as it he had been successful. He smiled at me. “Well, by the smile on your face, you look like you must have found gold,” he said.
“I did,” I answered him, and showed him the contents of my pack.
He whistled. “Good job! I’m glad you found some. Why are you carrying it like that though?”
“What do you mean?” I was confused.
“Let’s get back down to the house, and I’ll show you what I mean,” he said, and set a pace my tired legs could barely keep up with.
When we got to the house, Theo called for Lissa to join us, and we all sat down in the front room. “Show Lissa your find,” he told me.
I did this, and she smiled and asked, “But why are you carrying it that way?”
I was completely puzzled. “Theo asked the same thing. But I don’t understand what you mean,” I said.
“Pick up a nugget,” Lissa told me.
I did, holding it in the palm of my hand.
“Now, relax, close your hand around it. Do you feel what’s inside it?”
I could feel something, yes. It was like the feeling I had when I first found the nugget- a germ of an idea, a flash of inspiration gleamed at me like the nugget had in the dark mine.
“Oh!” I said.
“That’s it. You’re getting it! Now just keep doing that. Do you feel it becoming a part of you? Reaching down inside you and growing?
I did.
“Good. Now you see what the gold can do. Reach for it, feel it, let it grow within you. When you are creating, let the gleam from this gold flow into what you are making, let it help you create. You’ll be surprised at what you can do with it when you have some practice.”
I smiled at them. “Thank you so much. You’ve truly helped.”
“Let me get you a bag for the rest of your nuggets,” said Lissa, getting up.
I turned to Theo, “How do you carry your gold?” I asked.
“Look!” He opened his hand, and I saw a gleam of gold in the palm, but it was like it part of his body.
“With practice, you will be able to do this too. Don’t be alarmed if the alluvial gold becomes one with you. It just means you have learned to tap it at will. Lissa doesn’t even need to be physically at the mine anymore to find the gold. Keep trying. You’ll get there too.”
Lissa came back with a little embroidered bag- despite the fact that the gold was weighing me down, I was surprised to see that there wasn’t a lot of it physically. It was just very heavy, very rich. “I keep these around for the people I host,” she smiled. “I’m so glad you were able to find gold!” She helped me transfer the nuggets into the bag- except for the one in my hand, which I was surprised to see was like Theo’s now - part of me.
“Good!” said Lissa. “You’re catching on fast.
The gleam from the nugget was begging me to go and write for a while. “I can see what you want to do!” Lissa laughed. “You’ll find pens and paper at the desk in your room. Dinner won’t be ready for a while. Go and write. I know that Theo always has to play when he gets home.” Laughing, she left for the kitchen. Theo and I looked at each other and smiled, and he reached for his fiddle as I headed for the stairs.
I had found the secret of my own spark of creativity- buried deep inside, in the dark, where the gleams from the gold shone brightly. I thought that may have been the easy part- finding that it was there. Now came the work- finding it again when I needed it, and leaning to use it.
Dream Seed Packet
My seed packet seemed to have changed…
One Response to “Dream Seed Packet”
Dream Seeds
I got back to Riversleigh today- it is nice to stay a few nights in my own bed before I go off again. I really enjoyed my stay with Lissa and Theo; I learned a lot from those two remarkable people. In fact, after seeing what Lissa has been doing, I may spend more of my time on my fiber arts. With the exception of my knitting, I have neglected them lately. And after Theo- well, I think I’ll expand my CD collection. My wooden flute I’ll save for myself in private, at least for now. It’s better that way.
After I plunked my bag in my room and checked to make sure the Door was behaving itself, I pulled out the little bag from the Enchanteur and headed for the greenhouse. I hadn’t been out there before, so I spent a little time just looking around. There were all sorts of beautiful and exotic blooms and some very strange plants as well. I could tell that some of them were dream seeds planted by others that were coming to fruition. I hoped mine would do well, too.
Finally, I opened the little bag of assorted items and fished out the package of dream seeds. Now, I hadn’t looked at it too hard when I first got the bag, and I had been too busy since, but I didn’t think the package had looked quite the same when I first got it.
It was a lovely package, with butterflies on the front, and the words Butterfly Brand Dream Seeds.
I felt something tickling my ear. I looked up and saw a butterfly flitting around a blossom nearby. A slight breeze (in the greenhouse?) brushed past me, and I thought I heard a giggle.
“Butterfly man, is that you? Are you responsible for these dream seeds?” I asked.
There was no answer. The butterfly on the flower was gone and the breeze didn’t come back. “All right, then,” I said, “Have it your way.” I went back to reading the seed packet.
On the back it said:
Butterfly Brand Dream Seeds
To plant: Plant in a colorfully decorated pot with rich soil
Water carefully with stream water
Feed with one teaspoon honey diluted with ¼ water
Place in a sunny window or outdoors in sunshine
When plants reach 2” place a stake or small trellis for vines to climb
Continue to keep plant moist, but not wet, and feed with honey mixture twice weekly
To use: Scent from flowers may be used as aromatherapy for creativity
Tea may be made from dried leaves and blooms
Steep one tablespoon per cup of boiling water; may also be served iced
Promotes flights of fancy, colorful use of language and art, and generally following your muse.
These seeds did sound intriguing. I looked around to see if I could find a brightly painted pot. Sure enough, someone who liked to throw pots and paint and glaze them in bright colors had left a rather tipsy stack of their finished projects out here for us to use. I sorted through them until I found one that I really liked- It was glazed in a lovely bright blue and had green vines with yellow and pink flowers going around the outside. It was cheerful and certainly seemed bright enough for the butterfly dream seeds.
I filled the pot with some of the nice rich compost-filled soil kept in the greenhouse and shook the seeds out of the packet. There were four of them, and I decided to plant them all, one for each direction. They were odd looking seeds; each was about the size of a pea, and each one of them was a different color - blue, purple, yellow and pink. I poked little holes in the soil and dropped a seed in each one, patting the soil gently back over the top. Then I took a watering can outside and looked around until I found a little stream to fill the can. On my way back to the greenhouse, I stopped in the kitchen and begged some honey off of the cook. She was very nice about it and sent me on my way with a little crock full of it, so I could feed my plant regularly. I watered the seeds, and fed them the honey mixture, and then decided I would like to keep the plant in my room. The pot full of soil was heavy, and I staggered back to my room under the weight of it. Finally, it was safe on a table by one of my windows, and I put the empty packet in a drawer to keep.
The window was open, and a butterfly drifted in briefly, hovered over the pot, and floated back out again.
I leaned out the window, but no one was in sight. Still, I spoke aloud, “Okay, Butterfly Man, I don’t know if you are in cahoots with the Enchanteur over this or not, but the dream seeds are planted. If you want to help them grow, that’s fine with me!”
I spent the rest of the evening cleaning up the things from my trip so I could be ready to go again in a few days, and then took a very long, scented bath before I went to bed.
This time my dreams were of butterflies dancing over gleaming gold nuggets.
2 Responses to “Dream Seeds”
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edit this on 11 Apr 2007 at 1:17 am1
jan2I do enjoy your stories, they are so involved with terrific detail. The dream seed packets are gorgeous.
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edit this on 11 Apr 2007 at 11:38 am2
cronelogicalIf I could have seeds from such a beautiful packet I think my dreams would joing you in butterfly places, roses, lillies, dahlias and all the flowers of summer would be there. Fran
George the Donkey - The Lost Episodes
I needed to bridge a few gaps in my journey-journal, especially regarding George the donkey! So- here are the lost episodes of George the donkey.
When I went out of Lissa’s house to go up to the mines, George was already out front waiting for me. In fact, he had made himself quite at home and was helping himself to some of Lissa’s garden. “George! What do you think you’re doing?” I shouted. “This is Lissa’s garden!”
“I’m having breakfast,” he replied calmly, taking another bite of the garden. He brushed past a large sunflower as he lifted his head up, getting a nose full of pollen. He snorted loudly, spraying me liberally with chewed-up green bits.
“George!” I yelled, “Watch what you’re doing!”
I heard a giggle behind me. Lissa was watching, her eyes sparkling and her hands pressed over her mouth. When she saw me turn around, she gave up and burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry, but it’s so funny!” she gasped. I tried to brush some of the green bits off of my clothes and then gave up and started laughing too. When she could speak again, Lissa said, “I always lose some of the front garden to the donkeys when I have a guest. They just can’t resist the nice fresh greenery. I gave up a long time ago, and just started planting things I knew they like to eat. It was easier than fighting it!” She smiled and told George, “Be careful, or I’ll plant nothing but thistles!”
“Hah. You know that I’ll eat them if I have too, but I much prefer this other stuff. If you plant those, I’ll just move to the back garden and see what I can find there.” He brayed a laugh.
“Oh, you.” Lissa shook her head. “Go on and take She Wolf up to the mines. She’s had her breakfast too and she’s ready to go.”
So off we went, up into the mountains and to the mine. At the entrance, George reminded me that I would need to slough something. Then he said, “You need to slough those pieces of chew-up plant, too, because they’re still clinging all over your front!” And with that he brayed another laugh and trotted off to a green patch nearby.
As I went into the mine, I realized that I had forgotten to be nervous, thanks to George’s distractions. Once again, he had done his job.
That evening, as Theo and I were walking back and talking, George hung back and let us talk. As we approached the gate to Lissa’s house, I turned to George and said, “You’re awfully quiet this evening.”
“I don’t think I really need to say anything right now,” he replied. “You’ve done well, though, and I’m really proud of you.”
I never knew that a compliment from a donkey could feel so good.
When it was time for me to head back to Riversleigh for a few days, George showed up, packed and ready for the trip. “You’re coming with me?” I asked.
“Sure. Knowing you, you’d just manage to get lost between here and there. I know the way. Besides, don’t you want the company?”
“Of course I do. It wouldn’t be the same without you,” I told him. So I had a traveling companion for my trip back to Riversleigh.
We walked a long way in silence. Then, quite suddenly, I felt tired. I saw a shady spot beside the road, and sat down. George stopped, too, and asked, “What’s the matter, She Wolf?”
“I don’t know. I just got tired. I sat down. Now I don’t want to get up for a while.”
“Oh. Okay.” George wandered off into the plants alongside the road and began to graze.
I fell asleep in the warm shade. I finally woke myself up with a start, snoring. George was gazing at me interestedly. “You know,” he said, “ That was almost as impressive a noise as my braying!” He ducked when I swatted at him. “Let’s go find a place to camp. I don’t think we’re going to get much more traveling done today.”
I started to protest, but he stopped me. “No, you’re obviously tired. Look. You came to Riversleigh and had no more gotten settled in there when you took off again to do the Lemurian Tour. Then you went mining, which is hard work. You’ve done a lot in a little bit of time. Take some down time, write in your journal, refresh yourself. It’s okay to be tired sometimes. Just don’t let it become a way of life.” As he talked, we were walking deeper into the forest, away from the path. I could hear the sound of a stream babbling to itself nearby, and the air smelled fresh and sweet. Finally, we came to the place George had been looking for. It was a small clearing, grassy and smooth. The trees overhead were solid and strong, old patriarchs of the forest. I sat down feeling as if I had come home, so welcoming was the little clearing.
“Ahem,” said George, twitching his withers under the packs.
“Oh! Sure, George! I’m sorry!” I leapt up and took all the gear off of him, and he rolled in the grass gratefully. “Hold on, and I’ll get the brush out and give you a good brushing,” I told him.
After he was brushed and the camp set up, I boiled water from the talkative little brook to make some tea and George and I chatted.
“You probably could have stayed a few more days with Lissa, or just gone straight back to Riversleigh to get some rest, but I think you need to be away from folks for a few days to refresh yourself. Everyone needs a little solitude now and then, but some folks need it more than others, and you’re one of those folks.”
I nodded. “Yes, I do. Sometimes I just forget how much I need it. I’ll rest here until I feel ready to go on again, once I have assimilated some of the knowledge I have gained in the last few days. It probably won’t take too long,” I added, “I’m not that fond of sleeping on the ground!”
George brayed a laugh and went back off the graze on the fresh greenery.
The little interlude proved to be just what I needed, and soon we were on our way back to Riversleigh again. We crossed theRiver of
Creativity again, and I plunged back into those exhilarating waters with a will. It was still a bit hard to steer through the currents, but oh, what a ride!
When we finally walked up the driveway at Riversleigh, I was more than ready to see my own room again. But first, I took George out to the stables and made sure he was unpacked and brushed with fresh water, oats and hay. He told me, “If you ever need a donkey, just let me know. I’ll be delighted to travel with you again.”
“Thanks George,” I replied. “I can’t think of a better traveling companion than you’ve been.” And I gave him a hug.
One Response to “George the Donkey- The Lost Episodes”
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edit this on 18 Apr 2007 at 5:48 pm1
cheshire7Thank you. Now I don’t have to wonder if George is wandering around the mine looking for you!
And I really like the point of needing a break in between doing things. (Especially when it’s innerwork or soul work.)
We so often rush from one activity to another and do not give ourselves time to digest our feelings/thoughts. Do ya
think there’s a connection between that behavior and all the commericals for heartburn, indigestion, and acid reflux?Enchanted Woods
After returning to Riversleigh and planting my dream seeds, I spent a few days just hanging around. I visited other people’s rooms, chatted a bit, but did not do any real work. Finally I decided to get out a bit and take a walk in the Enchanted Woods.
The woods were deep and shady; walking through them was like a draught of sweet fresh water for my soul. I spied small flowers hiding at the base of huge trees, and listened to the birds chattering and playing overhead. A little creature that looked something like a chipmunk bounced along on the limbs overhead for a while. The path I followed wandered around the woods and crossed several small streams; I found myself wondering if any of these fed theRiver of
Creativity.
When I sat down to rest on a large rock beside on of these streams, I discovered I was not quite as alone as I thought I was. First I felt something tugging on my hair. I thought I had caught it on a twig, so I reached around and batted at it, to get it loose. My hair wasn’t caught on anything. Then I felt a bug crawling up my neck. I brushed at it quickly, but again there wasn’t anything there. This was a little bit irritating, but I decided my imagination was too busy, feeling tugs and bugs where there weren’t any.
Then what felt like a cup of ice cold water from the stream went pouring down my back. I jumped up, shrieking, and turned around. Not only was there nothing there, but my back was dry. I heard a giggle, a very tiny giggle, coming from behind me.
Now I suspected I had company. I sat back down, as if I hadn’t heard anything, grumbled out loud to myself about my imagination, and waited. Sure enough, someone decided to try another trick. I felt tiny, busy fingers at my collar and turned around rapidly. I found several large and unhappy ants suspended in mid-air right where my collar had been. They fell to the ground as a busy set of wings buzzed away from me.
“It’s no use; I caught you in the act!” I called, “Come on back and talk to me!”
I heard a giggle from behind me again, and then another one in my ear. Then something landed gently on my shoulder.
“You’re no fun, She Wolf,” said a tiny voice. “You’re not supposed to catch us until we’re ready to be caught!”
“Well then, you must have been ready,” I replied. “Because I caught you! You seem to know who I am, but I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced.”
“We’re just some of the fairies that live here in the Enchanted Woods. We come over to Riversleigh sometimes, but we just hadn’t gotten around to visiting you yet. When we saw you out in the Woods, we thought we’d come over and say hi!”
The slight weight on my right shoulder had been joined by one on my left shoulder and another one on top of my head. The one on top of my head began to pick up small sections of my hair and play with it.
“Hey, no fair making elflocks out of my hair!” I said.
The only reply was another giggle, but the sensation stopped.
“Do you want to come with us and see some of the magical and wonderful places here in the Enchanted Woods?” the fairy on my right shoulder asked. She seemed to be the spokesfairy for the group.
“Sure, why not. I’m always up for a little adventure,” I replied.
So with the guidance of the fairies, I explored the paths in the Enchanted Woods. The little chipmunk-creature ran around over head as I was shown the paths to the Gypsy Camp (this looked like fun), the Golden Seed Grove and theTemple of
Solace which I had already visited, and the path to the Faraway Tree. The fairies told me not to go there quite yet. I would be visiting it soon enough.
We were on our way back to Riversleigh when I heard a small sad voice crying piteously somewhere off the path. The fairies darted away in the direction of the crying and I followed after them.
The fairies were tiny and fast and were quickly out of sight, but the crying was easy to follow. I came into a small glade and there were the fairies swirling around a larger being, about the size of a toddler. It was wizened and wrinkled and crying loudly, as if its heart were about to break.
“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” I asked as I ran over.
“My, my baby,” she sobbed. (The being was obviously a she, now that I was close enough to see her through the surrounding fairies.)
“What about your baby?” I questioned.
“She’s lost, and I can’t find her…” the little mother trailed off in a wail.
“We’ll help! We’ll find here for you, Old Mother! And the She Wolf will help us, too!” chorused the fairies.
“Sure we will!” I said. “What does she look like?”
“That’s the problem, I don’t know!” cried the woman.
“Huh? What do you mean you don’t know what she looks like?” I was truly puzzled.
“She likes to look like different animals! I don’t know which one she was today!”
I had a feeling I knew. “Is she quite curious? Curious enough to follow a stranger all over the Enchanted Woods all day long?”
The mother nodded.
“You know, I would be willing to bet that if you were to say something very loudly about it being time for dinner, and about not being angry if someone were to be a little bit late if they showed up right now, that your problem would be solved.” I was pretty sure I knew where her daughter had been all day.
The mother creature did as I suggested, with the fairies still buzzing around excitedly, and sure enough, there was a crashing sound in the branches overhead and a small chipmunk-like creature landed in a heap at our feet.
“I thought as much!” I said. The fairies burst out laughing.
The mother creature grabbed the little one in her arms and sobbed loudly. “You’re home, oh, you’re home! I thought I had lost you forever! Oh my, oh my!”
The fairies and I thought this was as good a time as any to make our exit. As we left, one of the fairies whispered in my ear, “She loses her daughter at least once a week! We’re always going off looking for her, only to have her turn up on her own a short time later.” A tiny sigh accompanied the words.
We were soon back at Riversleigh, and the fairies accompanied me to my room. They hovered around the dream seed pot for a few minutes and then darted around the rest of the room quickly before flying away through the open window. “We’ll be back!” they called as they left.
I tended my dream seeds, which were beginning to sprout, and went to see about some supper.
One Response to “Enchanted Woods”
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edit this on 17 Apr 2007 at 7:21 am1
Heather BlakeyAh the enchantment of drifting off to one’s very own world. It is easy to see why the Neverending Story had such an appeal.
In the Grove
I walked amongst the trees
Giant Live Oaks
Dripping moss
Time personified, aged masters
Tall tall Pines
Spears to the heavens
Taking our prayers
Straight up
Cypress
Soaking in the
Waters of Life
Knees sticking up
Cottonwoods granting
Quick shade
Finding water
In dry lands
Orchard trees, peaches and pears
Nourishing the body
Telling tales
To nourish the soul
Still I looked
I found Maples
Running with sweet memories
Each spring
Magnolias taking the breath away with
Sweet scent
Willows touching their fingers
To the ground
And then I found
A river of trees
Running together in a pack
Like the wolf
Slim Aspen with trembling leaves
Bright green leaves
Paper white trunks standing
In hosts together
They spoke of
Being one in the face
Of the world
And all
They spoke of knowing that
Together we can
Survive that which alone
We cannot
They spoke of the
Joy
Of being
Together
So I sat listening
Beneath
The Aspen trees
In the Golden Grove
And they spoke to me
Long and sweet
Of being close
To those we love
One Response to “In the Grove”
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edit this on 18 Apr 2007 at 5:35 pm1
cheshire7If Joyce Kilmer had read this poem, she may have not said, “I think that I will never see a poem as lovely as a tree.” I love trees and your poem too.
A Map of My Heart
I mapped my heart today
In black and white
A list, a simple formula
Of my life
And found with surprise
A pattern therein
A pattern of lights and darks
Valleys and peaks
I traced each path
I saw whence it came
Where it went
I found where the fears
Tied knots round my heart
I tried to loosen them, but
My fingers could not yet
Work loose the knots
But I found them
There in the dark times
Holding part of me hostage
I saw the climb into the light
The joy, the good times
I saw that my path
Wound back up
Into the light here and now
I must use this light
Here and now
To see the dark knots
And loosen their
Grip on my heart
To leave it free and open
Once more
edit this on 05 Apr 2007 at 12:17 am1
cronelogical
Great version, great story, don’t ever interfere with the route of a donkey named George. Fran, the Donkey’s Union Secretary
edit this on 05 Apr 2007 at 3:05 am2
quinncreative
George is the one to watch, huh?
edit this on 05 Apr 2007 at 6:11 am3
lorigloyd
George is a real wise-donkey!
edit this on 05 Apr 2007 at 11:52 am4
Heather Blakey
Nothing quite like a delicious fractured fairy story. What fun Jane.