On a cloud

The peacock's hue within the ringlet's fall,
The dark-eyed glances of the startled fawn,
The suppleness of vines in limbs, the moon's
Full roundness in the face — your playful scorn
In eyebrows tells me you combine them all.
With mineral dyes I've drawn you in this feint
Of anger at me when in truth the stone
Should show me at your feet, my eyesight filled
With tears. How hard a fate that won't condone
The warm reunion I long to paint.
When he who would embrace you only sees
His virtuous at distance, and appears
To outstretched arms an ache or emptiness,
The woodland deities are sad: their tears
Are swollen tenderly to pearls in trees.
The winds from Himalayan snows that blast
Their way on southwards to the air have lent
The smell of opened pine trees' oozing shoots.
Let me hold you, worthy one, whose scent
Has come assuredly from bodies passed.
How can the night's extended watches shrink
Or all the days be cast in moderate heat?
But in this manner, with unsteady eye,
The sights petitioning for my defeat,
In pain and helplessly of you I think.
I live by brooding on you. Do not feel
Excessive grief for me, my tender one.
Unending pain and joy are no one's lot,
But always upwards, downwards we are spun
About the felly of life's turning wheel.
When Vishnu rises from his serpent bed
The curse had ending, which is four months hence.
My soul's desire, now close your eyes, and think
How love's long parting brings its recompense
In moonlight falling through that night instead.
Kalidasa - Excerpt from Meghaduta

Morning kissed my cheeks and I lay there watching the dawn emerge in its full granduer. No congering of a merry song, no force of grease paint smile. Just the silence of liquid emotion undamming rivers along the sides of my cheeks. Unstaunching the flow while the parting of a cloud allowed the light to shine through. One ihn in time so intense that I struggled to breathe. Memories flooded through me, from of the merest touch of fingertips that have traced the strands of my hair, to the roughened grasp drawing me closer. I relived them all over and over again until I thought I would burst from the pain, the pleasure, the agony, the bliss. I lived in those moments in each and every one of them and yet I died as well. A savored death my soul cried in longing for as many times as the remembrance would come. Once, one hundred, a thousand or more. Whispers painted the surface of the cloud pouring out onto it ... everything and an exhaled breath sending it on to its destination.

High hopes

Singing in the sunshine, laughing in the rain
Hitting on the moonshine, rocking in the grain
Aint no time to pack my bag, my foots outside the door
Got a date, I cant be late, for the high hopes hailla ball.
got a hell hound on my trail cause its hell Im headed for
no one really knows which one it is
Singing to an ocean, I can hear the oceans roar
Play for free, play for me and play a whole lot more!
Singing bout good things and the sun that lights the day
I used to sing on the mountains, then the ocean lost its way.
I've been there I dont know? Oh oh yeah!

~Led Zeppelin

Along with learning first aid, I found that lessons with the kaiila Mistress were on the agenda as well as learning the differences in animal tracks taught by none other than the weapons Master himself. I was jumping up and down for joy and squeeling .. no not squeeking ... really and truly squeeling with excitement ... On the inside. Of course it all came bubbling up to the surface and spilling over as a quiet spoken ... I would like that very much. Even while I was being coaxed into being part of a slut pile and teased because I didn't leap up and at'em instantly, my mind was racing with the imagery of being out on the plains seeking out the sculptures that paws and hooves left behind in the dust and looking for bent straw and broken twigs where ... something ... had passed. I was liking this idea even better than being able to tend the kaiila. Don't get me wrong, I love horses, I love the kaiila just as much but I'm not allowed to pounce up into the saddle, dig in my heels and feel the wind kiss my face and caress my hair. Slaves aren't allowed to feel the thunder of taloned claws bite into the plains or know the ripple of the massive muscles in motion, maybe under our bellies if we are tossed across a saddle but it is not the same. That was sort of like getting all dressed up to go to the movies on a hot date and actually having to watch the movie, sideways.

This learning to track offer though was new and thrilling. I knew a good bit of it from the southern estates. Deer hunting was a passion of the men where I came from. If you were any part of a southern man's life, you knew when the season came in, what supplies were needed, have them ready at all times, as well as be able to co-ordinate Mossy Oak and Real Tree cammoflage. If you think men aren't fashion conscious, mix those two up and see what happens.

But let me back track to the tracking. Deer are similar creatures to the tabuk here except for the horns. Those differ entirely. Tabuk are just one pointy hornie instead of two wriggly hornies. They still do what bears do in the woods and I knew how to tell those little tidbits apart or at least I could learn. Now there is something to write home to Mother about, knowing who drops what and where and how or point out where a good rutting zone was.

I could see it all now, Tinkerbell Tracker ... Oh yeah baby I'll take you anywhere you wanna go ...

By the way Mister Sandman the cloak fits real nice.

Its a good thing

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.
The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do
They're really saying I love you.
I hear babies cry, I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll never know
And I think to myself what a wonderful world
~Louis Armstrong

There were little touches of the dream that toyed with my thoughts as I filled the buckets. In the early ahns without the infusion of light from the central fire yet, the stream looked a lot like the carpet I'd been given. Much as I had in my slumbers I wanted to pull it all up around me covering myself completely with it, take it back to the camp and offer it to every one I met today. How does one go about doing that?

I figured I would start with the little bundle that was hogging my blanket. I snagged a left over meat pie to go then filled a bota with fresh water to wash it all down with before I braved trying to rouse the lost waif. There were murmurs of things that boys that age shouldn't know how to say. Much of which I simply translated to a cheerful 'good morning .. what a lovely day'.

It took a little bit of long distance coaxing to avoid the swatting of his hands to shoo me away before he finally crawled out from under the wagon. He snagged the meatpie to stuffed into his cheek whole. I'm not sure if he coughed with that much food in his mouth or muttered something else when he took the bota and poured the water over his head. How very much he reminded me of someone else made me laugh even if the growl and the glare was strictly his own. I was still chuckling and even muttering to myself as I watched him tear off to join the others his age for lessons.
Talking to myself was not a natural thing to me so it had to have seemed a bit comical when I entered the fires waving one hand in the air, dragging a sack of bosk droppings behind me with the other, smiling while I chuckled and still mumbling something about ... boys.

That was the start of how I wound up being part of a pick up spare in a raucous game of plains bowling. So that is what running the lance looks like. One of the Masters was chasing a little blue wisp and the wagers were on between raven and I. In the end we were toppled into the Master-slave snowball as well. I still say he won and that wagons being obstacles don't count when it makes the bola ricochet. The Master said it was a tie. Drat, raven was going to have to gather dung for me for a day. Of course if I'd lost, I'd have to pay her a red candy. Since I didn't have any, a tie was a good thing.

Now exactly how the subject turned to what the slaves wore I am not sure unless it had something to do with noodle 'Not' wearing anything. The Master told raven to see to our clad kajir and make it all fit a little more snug. An old episode of Jeff Foxworthy flashed in my head ... the "just slut her up a little' part. I did try bartering like I did with the Mistress. Mine seemed to fit just fine to me ... you know ... loose ... comfy. He said if I gave raven any grief, she could make me go topless. I shut up.

Lessons on first aid came in handy with the little blue imp and of course the Master needed checking out too in case he had anything that had turned blue and was tender. I must need more lessons because all I could offer was a kiss to the top of his head and a repeat of the Mistress words ... Just stay calm and relax. Graciously, the Master accepted the small offering without making much to do of it all.
I'm still uncomfortable with other Masters. I can pour a mean bowl of blackwine and ladle up a dish of stew that can keep a warrior warm for ahns but ...

I saw the look raven gave me. I was going to have some explaining to do. I had all the same passions that the other girls have ... I think. A good looking Tuchuk could make my pulse race. One of them did anyway. Sometimes it is so painful that I want to murmur sweet nothings and other times holding it in is so deliciously sweet it hurts. I was just saving it all up to unleash ... ummm later.

I dreamed a little dream

I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sweep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
The nightingale's complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O, beloved as thou art!
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast:
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last
~Die Verbannten Kinder Evas


Sleep finally carried me beneath its gentle touch and took me on a new venture. It was not the 'convertible parked on a romantic hillside with the top rolled back, only this time he wasn't praying for the end of time' kind of journey that I had hoped. It was an eclectic mix that made no sense and at the same time held volumes in its wisdom.

Everything seemed to open up into a world of perfect beauty painted in wonderful shades of green. Green grass, green trees, a lake so pure that it shone emerald beneath the sky's touch. Even the lanscape had a gentle rolling to its highs and lows. It was the kind of place you just wanted to spread a checkered tablecloth, pull out a bottle of wine with cheese and sit listening to the birds sing. Across the lake I could see a house. I could see into it. A murial sculpted against the far wall was soothing and beckoning as well. I wanted to go there and see it up close, to be there and began a journey to find it.

The path held gardens of beautiful flowers and delicate vines that continued the lure to go on. When I found the house it was no less breath taking than the portrait of the lake had been. A welcoming committee turned out to offer gifts. One that stood out more than any other was a darker skinned man that gave me a carpet. He didn't have the markings of the tribe across his cheeks, instead he reminded me of the dessert, the sun kissed sands. The rug he held out was soft and supple enough that I draped it over my shoulders like a cloak. It covered me almost completely so that only my hands were left exposed. My fingers ran across the weave appreciating the workmanship. The hues so rich and vibrant they almost blended together though the patterns of swirls and florets never seemed to fade. It was woven in shades of beige, orange, brown, black, yellow and a rich purple. It was so delightful that I took it with me as I went to explore the house.

Dimensions are never what they seem in a dream and the walls were not walls but stairs that led upward. Each step had to be taken with caution as the steps were laden with pretty little potted plants, curiosities and books. I had to watch where each of my feet rested on the risers, amused that my feet were all I could see. I wanted to stop there and check out each blossom and title that I passed but I needed to continue on.

At the top there was a door that opened into a room that seemed to have no boundaries. As far as I could see in any direction it simply held chairs, those comfy kind like you find at an old Grand Theater but on the other side I watched a column of people file by. They were singing in a low chant with chanticlars emitting streams of smoke that filled in the spaces in between. I have no answer of why it caused me to grow worried. The feeling of concern was real for a little girl, one with yellow hair and a smile that could have been painted by the sun it was so bright. Only dreams know why they change in such a way. But I searched until I found her in a white room surrounded by light. She was a little rumpled around the edges but I woke before I could find out why.

Nothing of this nocturnal vision has interest to anyone else but even upon waking it seemed important that I remember each detail, each color. Despite a jitter to my hands and a race of pulse through my veins that felt like each one was on fire I had this smile that wouldn't seem to dim. If only I could have washed away that strange copper taste that coated my tongue.

The central fire had lifted its sleepy head yet and in the amber fused purple haze of the morning I put each tidbit to memory before I rose. There had to be some kind of meaning to them. Making sure to tuck the blanket in around my tiny sleepwalker, I had to check to see if it was multi-colored but it was just my gently worn little old one. I headed off for the emerald stream looking for yellow bricks along the way. You see I had promised Cana I would have blackwine ready when she woke. raven reminded me that was her job but since I'd volunteered, I could brace the cooler mornings to get the water. That girl is so good to me.

Sides of a coin

I'd grown accustomed to sleeping beneath or on top of a wagon where ever there was an empty spot rather than in the crowded slave wagon. The physician's wagon isn't very far from the one of the kaiila Mistress and that one isn't far from Master Rook's. I would find a place near one of them to spread my blanket. The past few days I'd begun to pick up my chores again from the other slaves that had been helping but for some reason it took more out of me than usual. Several nights would find me toppling into it sound asleep before my cheek ever touched its softness. Tonight though, that bliss was reluctant to come. With my eyes closed I seemed to hover between wakefulness and the brink of an abyss that I could not slip beyond.

The feel of something warm and soft shifting against the middle of my back didn't startle me but I lay still in that drowsy state trying to determine whether it was friend or foe. When a toe dug into the back of my calf and an elbow gouged at my ribs, I pulled the corner wedge of my blanket over the little body leaving my hand curled over his hip behind me.

A new round of fidgits while he fought his own battle against sleep caused me to whisper,'be still.' I heard his breath sigh and could almost see the warm vapor turn white in the cool air and soon a little purr of snoring filled in the pause in between.

More on this side of waking now I lay there basking in this gift and pondering it as well. The small warrior had left the comforts of his new environment and braved slipping out to be here. Was he merely seeking the open stars, finding peace in the solidity of the ground beneath him and a sparkling blanket of the heavens to wrap him in comfort? If so then there were many wagons to slide beneath or even grassy little knolls that would have sufficed. Perhaps he had thought a little blonde slave girl was lonely and needed company. I rather doubted it but still it could have been his motive. I understood more than I was willing to let myself. He was here to fill a need of his own. Reaching out in a small way that wasn't small in any way at all, not to him. The distance he had traveled could not be measured in horts. If measured in base needs, he had spanned light years.

I could see myself having crept such a distance to be near one that I cared for and now I had the opportunity to see through his eyes. It was only a glimpse but it had been enlightening.

There are not two sides to every coin but three. Heads or tails is divided by the slim edge that both keeps them apart and holds them together. Tonight I lay there in the middle being able to see both faces and it dawned on me that it is only when the coin spins that it becomes whole .. a complete circle.

It all made sense in that moment but I knew I would have trouble trying to explain it all if anyone had asked. Instead I merely leaned back a bit so that my body offered a lee side against the wind for a smaller one. While I stared up at the cresents of the three moons it was another that filled my thoughts and I admitted to myself just how deeply I missed him.

Mandala re-edited

The wound is healing well noted by the intense itching beneath the layers of gauze. I forget that it is there much of the time, but the Mistress watches me like a herlit, scolding me if my hand even twitches in the direction of my shoulder. There is a sore spot on my scalp too, not from the tangle with the beast but from having gotten her handi-work wet. That was what I was supposed to remember about the stream. She made a trench between the fire and the healer's wagon with my bottom, dragging me there to check how much damage I'd done.

Today the bandaging will come off. I've kept up with my chores despite it all. Some I could not have done without Oquai and Raven's help. Some I learned to do with the use of one hand and still not disturb the gashes on my back. I'm too busy to think of that afternoon much or the after affects. But today it teases the back of my memory. Parts of Edmund Larl have been distributed among the tribe. A taloned claw hangs from the throat of one of the new Mistresses. It was not until I saw it there that the ice water feel trickled up my spine. I should be pleased that he is no longer a danger to the tribe but it leaves a deep sadness as well as some wariness behind that I cannot explain.

The connection that I have with the wild animals allows me to understand them, how they think, how they follow natural instincts of survival. Often as fleeting thoughts though still understood. Their passings are simply a part of life as it is for humankind. Edmund and his mate were not merely wild animals. The spirit that lived within them held a different predatory response. It was cold and calculating. It thrilled at a kill. As if it could not wait to savor the richness of that taste, it longed for it. I wonder if that spirit still clings to the talisman or any of the other bits and pieces left of the beast. Was this Edmund's retribution, to slip back in when no one was looking, to touch everything, to leave his mark for being pushed from the Tuchuk treehouse? He had touched me and left his mark, I must share part of that spirit too now.

I cannot help glancing to the high grass now and then watching for the hollowed indention of movement. When the wind blows over the tops of the stalks setting them to motion I feel a shiver. I reach up to touch my shoulder to shake it off then stand taller knowing I know that I am stronger now because of it ...

even if more superstitious in my beliefs. I wanted his eyes.

A few of my favorite things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple streudels
Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles
Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings
These are a few of my favorite things

When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad
~Sound of Music

I seemed caught in a wirlwind of change that left me dizzy. Being once more a camp slave afforded me freedoms I had not known before. When I first came to the people I was not trusted enough to be able to roam among them much and the set of bells on my ankle at least let them know where I was and what I was doing when I did. The bells no longer swirled my ankles and I was more readily accepted at the fires. This new opportunity was not one I took lightly. In fact it felt like a gift to be cherished. I will admit that I was very much surprised to be in such demand among members of the tribe. Honored is a good word, I think. The physician had allowed me to help with the dispersement of furs to the outer wagons and help label things in her wagon. The kaiila Master said that once I didn't look like a present all wrapped up, I could help again with feeding and grooming the kaiila. Mistress; 'I have an bone in my leg,' said I could continue helping put up jars of jams and drying meats too. Then there was the task the Commander sent me on of combing beneath wagons to find a wiry little half bota to deliver to the Elders. That as well as the blonde urt hunt and raxxberry counting. Life was good and it was becoming full.

raven has been given the responsibility of keeping the camp slaves in line. If my opinion matters, it was a good decision. She did catch me off guard when she called me out to let me know I would be taught first aid by the Mistress. We, the camp slaves, would all learn something that would be helpful to the tribe. I did make sure that it was alright with the healer as well. If it had been up to me, I would have rather learned more about the kaiila. I knew a little about the beasts in a way. I knew horses and these creatures were similar, well, except for the fangs and taloned claws and all that silky fur ... and the fact that they tower over a wagon in size. And I had learned more when I was allowed to help with them before. The kaiila Master had said once that I could go with him on some of the drives. I had been torn between staying close to Me too and exploring the vastness of my new world and all of its glory. The decision would not be mine to make.

There were several thoughts that ran through my head besides the obvious. One was that no one really knew much about me. That was because I never said much. I get quiet when I am content and had been very quiet for a long time. The second was a dream. At first I had so wanted it to come true, now feeling that it just may, left me with this dreadful sinking feeling. The last was that I would have to remain within sight but not too close.
There was an old piece of prose that wove its way through my thoughts ... 'whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.'

between the bosk, the grass and the sky

Hatching from a nameless gleam of light I see
Monstrous flowers and frightening roses
I feel that out of duty I write all these things
That seem, on the lurid, trembling parchment,
To issue sinisterly from the shadow of my hand.
Is it by chance, great senseless breath
Of the Prophets, that you perturb my thoughts?
So where am I being drawn in this nocturnal azure?
Is it sky I see? Am I in command?
Darkness, am I fleeing? Or am I in pursuit?
Everything gives way. At times I do not know if I am
The proud horseman or the fierce horse;
I have the scepter in my hand and the bit in my mouth.
Open up and let me pass, abysses, blue gulf,
Black gulf! Be silent, thunder! God, where are you leading me?
I am the will, but I am the delirium.
Oh, flight into the infinite! Vainly I sometimes say,
Like the saviour calling out "Lamma Sabacthani,"
Is the way still long? Is it finished,
Lord? Will you soon let me sleep?
The Spirit does what it will. I feel the gusting breath
That Elisha felt, that lifted him;
And in the night I hear someone commanding me to go!
~Victor Hugo

Was it selfish of me to want to be there for him, to be a part of his world, to think that I was somehow helping? He has now been called before the Elders and he is angry and very anxious about it all. None can blame him for that. It is an important turning point. One that the future depends on.

I had meant well and still have deep down knowing inside that life holds great things for him. Readily, I will admit I do not know all there is to know of being a Tuchuk or of the many clans and their ways. These things I learn more of every day or at least what I am allowed to know. To the day I take my last breath I will learn so that I can give back.

I was given the chance to tell the story of a courageous warrior, one that faced grave danger, one that stood tall with honor to protect those that could not do so for themselves. I told it at the fires at the request of a Commander. It was heard and respect offered as it should be. Not to me of course but to the man who had been so fierce, so brave. What was his name, where among the vast harigga did he live, who was his family? These were important questions I had no answer to. I could only divulge that he was too young to have a name yet, unscarred, fuzz cheeked. Not a man but a small boy. He lived where he could, sleeping beneath wagons when he grew tired. There was no family that claimed him as their own. He was alone in this world. Alone except for a meddling little slave that watched over him when she could.

There was wisdom in the old warrior's voice when he asked that Master Rook begin looking after the boy. He would have a place to sleep, hot meals to eat, he would have the kaiila Mistress as well to help watch over him. She is the finest mothering spirit I have ever known. How I wish I could be the one that could offer that nurturing to him. So much so I felt an ache race through my heart. It eased only slightly when I saw her concern fill her features like a cloud against the sun. The name she chose for the boy was far more fitting than the nickname I had for him. Larl Spear is what he would be known as now until he has been given his true name by the tribe. I was told find him and to bring him before the Elders.

Weren't these all good things?

It took several days to find the slippery little fellow. When I did, he was among the other children reliving the moment with the larl in mock battle. The end of that lance now held straight and even. It had more velocity when he set it into motion. That little lower lip did not pooch out to his chin any longer, that little belly held taut bringing his whole demeanor to new heights. Still I would not disturb him while he was surrounded by others. I waited until they had returned to their wagons and he was by himself. There was a fire that blazed in those ebon eyes when he saw me, a touch of a small smile that seemed precious. Not a sweet and sappy kind of precious but one that was treasured far above jewels because of its rarity.

He is unnerved and it surfaces as anger to be called from his old world to one that is unknown, and in ways seems more foreboding than the great larl itself to face. He said this was all my fault but in the same breath asked me if he looked presentable to stand before the Elders. I resisted licking my thumb to slick a lock of his hair into place and wipe away the dust off the tender cheek. I do not know what is right or wrong when it comes to many of the ways of my people. I do not truly know how one is to appear before the Elders other than respectful and humble. I told him the truth though. I told him he looked like a courageous Tuchuk warrior to me.

He let me walk with him part of the way and it was only as I stood in the shadows of the Elder's fires watching him continue on ... with the gait of a champion that I could see a bit of white fluff held fiercely in his fist. When they asked of his heritage there could have been no more fitting response that what rang out clear, proud and well defined. "I am first son of No wagon and All wagons, born of the dust of the plains between the bosk, the grass and the sky."

I had seen enough, I had seen too much perhaps but when I was shooed from the shadows, I could not help the grin that seemed tattooed from ear to ear.

Everyone keeps asking me if I am alright. The answer is a resounding YES. I could not be more so.

Moonbeams

bell ... Can you hear me?

Momma it hurts so bad.

That couldn't be right. Momma never called me bell. She always called me her little cloche.

It all came flooding back ... the larl, the children, Me too.

Me too .. is he alright? It was the first thing I asked even before I had a good understanding of where I was.

Mistress Falon was there with one of those worried Momma faces. I tried to smile at her and pull myself into a proper kneel. Major mistake and I do mean major. That look on her face more than the pain itself told me, I was in bad shape. No mincing around words that one, she said so ... plain and simple. I was lucky to be alive. I sort of felt the same way or I would have if she hadn't been dabbing at tender places with stinging ointments. I was more grateful she stopped swabbing than I was to be breathing there for a moment or two. No broken bones thankfully but the larl had left me a souvenir that I would carry with me the rest of my life. The larl hadn't knocked any of the stuffings out of me but three deep claw marks created cresent moons along my left shoulder. Mistress teased me about them to help lighten the mood while she stitched me up. When she was finished I would look like a pretty little package all wrapped up. I just needed a pink ribbon to finish it off.

Odd what goes through your head at extreme moments. I told her she was beautiful, beautiful on the inside.

She was still concerned about the children. I was too. I was concerned too about anyone knowing how it had happened. She said I had a new story to tell. I said it should be Me too's moment of glory and not the tale of a silly little slave girl.

Why had it been a silly little slave girl involved in the first place? That is easy. Had it been a freewoman, the tribe would have come out in droves to defend her, nevermind the little tuchuk with the poochy little lower lip and an unbalanced lance. A warrior would have earned a new scar for his heroism. But a slave? We are expendable. Instead it would be all about Me too and how he saved the other children. He really was so brave. I was so proud of him.

I must have been feeling better by the ihn since I managed to barter with the Mistress about how long I had to take it easy. She said three days. I tried to argue for two. She won. Then she handed me some tea. Wow, it worked fast. In my drowsy state I barely recognized Oquai standing there. She had been the gentle arms that circled me and brought me here. Come to think of it, she had always been with me since I came to this world. It was something I would ponder later while I was exiled to the slave wagon with nothing else to do.

My amazon goddess became the stoic protector instantly. Talk about a mother vulo? I didn't argue as much with her as the tea began to work its magic.

No stream allowed. I was supposed to remember something about the stream ... nevermind, I'll go dust Master's wagon, but not right this ihn.

Dancing with larls sure takes a lot out of a girl.

I'm not sure why but I remembered the treehouse from when I was young.

Not the first time I've been called childish, just the first time I have ever said it about myself.

Falling from the treehouse

I remember going to Mother's friend's Esther's house on the coast when I was little, more so for her bratty son Edmund than I did the visiting with anyone else. Edmund was always self proclaimed 'in charge'. He made up the games we played, he made up the rules for them and he changed them at will. Always to suit him. No surprise he always won. I remember him most from the summer he pushed me out of the tree house. No girls allowed, he said then showed me the sign he'd made to prove it. It was only him and me so it divided the troops by half.
That fall knocked the breath out of me and made me mad. I mean real mad, the kind of mad that makes you all calm on the inside, past seeing red but seeing blinding white instead. I was too mad to cry. I tried climbing back up there to ... I don't know what I would have done if I'd gotten back in while he was there but he sort of figured it wasn't a good idea to let me up there again. So I waited him out. I didn't make any more attempts to get back up there while he was self proclaimed king of the tree house.
Eventually he got lonely or maybe just hungry but he slithered down the makeshift ladder and headed for the side porch of the manor. That was when I made my move. I skinnied up that tree and pulled the door closed behind me. Only took a minute to change the sign. No boys allowed

I held the treehouse for the rest of the afternoon. I touched each and everything Edmund had stashed there. Tainted it all with girl cooties. That would teach him. I felt vindicated anyway at least until Momma called me in for dinner.
bell ... bell

"Hidden"

If you place a fern
under a stone
the next day it will be
nearly invisible
as if the stone
has swallowed it.
If you tuck the name of a loved one
under your tongue too long
without speaking it
it becomes blood
sigh
the little sucked-in breath of air
hiding everywhere
beneath your words.
No one sees
the fuel that feeds you.
~ Naomi Shihab Nye

Whispers

If I had expected a glow of green light or even blue it did not appear. If I had expected the painted man to intervene, he had not come. Who was I to say that what I came here for was done. There had been greater forces at work here. If I had expected not to wake, I had been mistaken. I was too young to know that I would be mistaken many times in my life.

.. can you ...
can you .. live
for me

An echo reverberated through me and in my darkness I held tight to it. I held tight to all that I believed in. With that strangled grip I turned with defiance to a distant summons. The dirt beneath my fingers was curled tight into my palm.

The plains, my plains, my home.

The answer was a whispered ... yes.

And with it, I surrendered to the peacefulnes of sleep, aware only of arms that lifted me with a gentility.

As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might.
O! let my looks be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O! learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.