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A Bird in the Forest

 There was once a bird who found herself trapped underneath a thick canopy of forest trees. It was a horrible feeling. To fly beneath them for shelter and then find oneself hidden from the fresh breeze and the clear sky was enough to throw the little bird into a panic.

    She tweeted loudly again and again, flying as high as she could as she cried against the dampening echo that reverberated through sheets of leaves.

    A day and a night passed, and still she could find no exit through the forest ceiling. This was long enough for her panic to give way to exhaustion, and when she finally landed for more than a few seconds on a heavily shaded branch, she fell asleep.

    When she woke, she remembered her predicament. Fighting against her fear, she took several breaths. Then she looked about her.

    That was when she saw it.

    Shining in the distance.

    A small ray of light that had broken through the trees.

    She flew toward it carefully.

    And then she smiled. 

    She tweeted a little song as she inched her flight upward, through the trees and into the wide open air.

    And as she flew, she thought that the next time she found herself buried under waves of panic, she might rest first and look about her after.

A Kingdom for a Soul

It had been a strange journey, the man thought as he approached the path into the mountains that ascended steeply. Strange and cold.        He had followed the signs as he had been bidden. Crossed the oak tree with a branch of yew. Blinked twice at the Pool of the Fallen Faeries. Chanted the Poem of the Wandering Lost in the Cave of Being.     Yet, none of it had restored what he had lost.      It had happened long ago, when life appeared less sweet. When the world seemed as though it had nothing to offer. And when ego said it did not matter if one possessed a soul in exchange for all the power and riches one could imagine.       In exchange, the man received a kingdom.     An unfair exchange, he realized over time    And so, he had given away his kingdom and gone to the wizard at the edge of the wood, who looked him up and down, first kindly, then sadly, lastly with a gaze that made the man feel small—and then sent the man on a quest that might, perhaps, restore his soul
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This is Justice

 Once upon a time, there was work to be done.      Of course there was. That is THE story. The ever-present truth, a constant that holds there are things that must be done at every given moment.     How sweet, then, to throw off the toil.      Only, not really. The toil cannot be abandoned. Paused, though. Paused for a moment, and in that moment, just for that moment, ignored. Ever so briefly. Even the sun has had it's moment. Three whole days. And yet, centuries later, still it rises and falls as the world turns. So says the story.     Zoom in, then. See that woman. The one standing in the field. The sweat dripping down her neck, falling through her lashes, drenching her back. The master's eyes on her, sharp. The whip in his hand holds pain sharper still. Yet, the woman dares. She looks up. At the sky, blue as though a certain kind of sea had switched its place. Even this woman pauses her labor for a moment.     Of course, there's a cost.     The whip rises.     That is wh
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A Seasonal Note

 Once upon a time the world turned cold. Not on purpose. Not with malicious intent.  The sun had gone away, you see. And the world did not know if the sun would ever return. But it did. It always does. Remember that.
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The Monster's Bellows

There’s a sound.        A breathing in the wind.      A noise between the trees.     A bellow.     It hits your ears as if a thousand glasses shatter.      And that is when you see it.     It’s ten-taloned feet thudding, three tails blazing forked fire, as many heads slashing their gnashing teeth through the air in ripping snarls.       A monster.      Your feet back up as quickly as your jaw drops and you take in the gleaming red eyes that pulse with each closing of scaly lids. Until you feel the wall of an ancient castle tight against your back, the deep moss soaking through your clothes, the points of uneven stone making small cuts as you push willing it to move, or, better still, fold in around you.      You feel the clang of metal hit against the stone, a reminder that the sword that runs the length of your leg is no more than a toothpick in comparison to the monster that wildly advances.      Sweat drips down your face and back and neck as you draw the thin blade. It’s the sha
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