Can you see me? Am I ghost to your eyes? I gave so much but kept nothing for myself and now I’m lost like a grieving child, unloved, unspoken. My heart and soul tissue paper thin like tattered confetti fluttering in a breeze. Bit by bit, I feel myself fading away. Can you see me?
Lilacs covered the side of the house that spring, their perfume heady and sweet. I close my eyes and I can see the cottage, chipped walls in need of paint. I remember it all, water skis and Cranberry Lake, rich coffee at the market, Mt. Baker shining in the distance.
How was I to know it wouldn’t last? That like the winds across Deception Pass you would blow through my life leaving nothing but memories and emptiness, a hole that love once filled.
I put my face to the lilacs, breathing deep; it all comes back, sights, smells and tears.
“Penny for a posy, penny for a posy mum? Penny for a posy.” The little waif danced about the fountain square hawking her wares. A small tattered basket filled with flowers picked from the roadsides. They were gathered into tattered little bundles with equally tattered and dirty bits of string or rag. Star knew she should keep walking, she had to get back to the inn before she was missed. But the dark circles of the child’s eyes beckoned her, she placed a few coins in the girl’s hand and selected a flower from the basket.Continue reading “Stream of Consciousness Saturday a penny for a posy”→
Melantha ground the herbs in her mortar, gently circling the pestle round and round, softly chanting. She added the herbs to boiling rainwater and when the full moon rose, set the potion to strain.
Why? Melantha wondered as she carried her cauldron into the town square. Why was she doing this? The townspeople hated and feared her for the strain of dark magic within her. Why save them? Because she was the only one who could. “As one can, one must,” she repeated her mantra quietly. She left the cauldron in the square and spirited away on noiseless feet.
Watching from the shadows, Melantha smiled to herself and the town folk gathered around the cauldron. There’s not much pride left to a drowning man, nor to a dying town. A young woman was the first to scoop of the deep green liquid and take a cautious sip, feeling no harm, she spooned the potion into her children. Melantha returned to her shack as silently as she had come, the strain of her solitude eased a bit by her own act of compassion.
The stacks still spewed their poison into the air, the barrels of deadly poisons lay unbroken on the ground. A beleaguered Lady Earth had ripped away her own skin to be rid of the invading humans, leaving naught but scorched rock. The Dead Lands they were called.Continue reading “The Dead Lands”→