Showing posts from November, 2021

The Importance of Lore

Once upon a time there lived a maid whose job it was to clean a castle from top to bottom. But she felt cleaning was a fair trade; for, after all, she lived in a castle, and that made her feel very fancy.    One day a old wise woman arrived at the king's behest. She was given a modest room, for she was not so important a guest as to warrant anything of particular splendor. But she was not so unimportant that the maid wasn’t sent to set the fire and to dust. The wise woman thought nothing of ‘importance’ or ‘unimportance,’ and sought a friendship with the maid, telling her of wisdom’s crafts and of its lore.      In a few days’ time the wise woman left, having imparted what answers she could to the king’s queries; just enough time for the maid to have begun to learn the beginnings of the wise woman's trade.     Which is why the maid went with her.      For it will always be better to learn lore than to live in a castle.

A Cure for the Lonely

 Once upon a time a lonely woman befriended the stars.       It was a hard task, made of long nights filled with ready attention and warm streams of one-way conversation. There were intensive glances filled with yearning, and cheerful banter. Deep thoughts, delightful propositions. And persistence.     At long last the stars spoke back.     They were not the usual sort of friend, for they spoke of time, the universe, and the true meaning of infinity. After they had spoken so, the woman sat, and thought, and pondered.       And for a while after, she was far from lonely.

Wounded Humans

 There was once a woman who spent the second half of her life in the forest. She went to the woods because she wished to live away from the demands of a world filled with the hustle, bustle, and greed of humans. Instead, she went to a world where she lived according to every season, one where she cared for the trees and the shrubs, pruning careful paths, and tending to the wounded creatures that came her way.     As the years went on, more and more of the wounded creatures to which she tended were human.     At first she minded, for it was humans from which she had fled.     But the tended humans acted differently, perhaps from the woman's care, or perhaps from the forest itself. For they began to live by the seasons, too. And as the forest filled with all kinds of humans with their tended wounds, the woman felt something shift inside her, a warmth wrapped inside a dream.       For nothing makes one hope more than meeting a wounded human who is healing.

Two Witches

 Once upon a time, there was a witch of middle years who had much to do. She had herbs to care for and to harvest, potions to brew, villagers to tend to, and quite frankly, the cottage was getting dusty. It was all very well to do two tasks in a day, but the demands of her life were never equal to two tasks. No, more often than not, it was the case that all the tasks had to be done every single day. For the herbs were linked to the rise and fall of the moon and had to be cared for accordingly, the potions were in constant use by the villagers for all their ailments and needs―the bulk of whom seemed to be injured or sick or listless on a scheduled rotation―and the dust, well, that was just a byproduct of living in a house with drying herbs, a sooty fire, and a cat.       And so, she gardened and harvested and brewed and cared and cleaned day after day.       Again and again.     Until the day she went mad, sold all her things, and moved to the coast.    And that is why it is always bes