Maria Antonia has the new 2020 picoftheweek challenge up. Please join us by posting your own photos with #2020picoftheweek. Here is mine for this week, I have chosen to follow along in order this week’s theme is “Peaceful.”
Each morning, I ask for peace Every night I give thanks for peace Every moment in your arms I know peace
The guardian stood proud above the entrance to the sanctuary. It looked so real, every feather, talon and beak cast in perfection. Verdigris of age and winding ivy only serving to make the old monument more awe inspiring. Faelynn stood back gazing at the stone eagle ten times the size of a modern bird of prey. She began to wave her ironwood wand in an complex series of swoops and swirls while she chanted her counter spell.
With agonizing slowness color began to return to his feathers, as he stretched them out to their three meter span. Landing next to Faelynn, his head coming past her waist, he bowed gracefully.
Faelynn smiled, one dark spell undone. She turned to leave when the giant eagle nudged her with his enormous head. “Oh great,” she thought “what am I going to do with a giant bird?” Faelynn smiled at the possibilities.
The rock hut was ancient, abandoned long ago and forgotten by mortals and gods alike, it suited Shara’s purpose well. Here she was safe from the judgement of humans. Here, cloaked by nature and surrounded by growing things, she was at peace. Here she was alone, here she was free.
The withies were gathered to be woven into baskets and mats and all manner of useful things. In a few weeks, she would don her disguise, sell her baskets and return with what few items the forest could not provide. And no one would suspect that on the outskirts of their city winter’s frost never touched the vines and green things grew always, in the presence of Shara the Greenwitch.
The sokudu bike puttered slowly to a stop as Keziah held up a fist, the signal for the group to stop. Her wary gaze took in their surroundings. Flat lands for kilometers in every direction, good spot to make camp. They pitched their tents in the lee of the collapsed buildings. This land hadn’t been much before the war just a tiny oasis surrounded by kilometers of empty desert. Now they called it the “Never Never.” The saying was “Never go out there or you’ll Never come back.” Continue reading “Rest Stop … Last Stop”→
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.