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Showing posts from October, 2024

The Old Crow

 Once upon a time there was an old crow. It was a struggler, a hopper, and a left-taloned dreamer. It struggled because it was old and had wings that hurt. It was a hopper because of said hurt wings which left it hopping along. And it was a left-taloned dreamer because that was the only talon it had left. As I said, it was an old crow.     But the crow had vim and vigor.     It had spice and a quirky way of cocking its head.     And, sometimes, even when the day seemed bleak, it would lean back its head and caw.     One day, the old crow saw a mouse on its side with a paw missing. The old crow hopped up to the mouse, and turned it over with its beak. It nudged the mouse into the shelter of a nearby shrub, and stood guard. When the mouse felt strong enough, it watched the old crow, and saw what it was like to be without an appendage.      T he old crow watched the mouse come to terms with having a missing paw...

The Seamstress Who Lost A Pin

The journey had to be completed before dark. The wind howled so loudly it practically screamed. The rain dropped like a million constant marbles hitting the earth. And yet, the woman would have heard the tiny drop of a pin for all her attention focused on the cloth in her hand. She would have heard it, but for one moment. A flash, a startle of shadow, and the corner of an eye detached, just for a moment, from the garment she carried.     Her arrival at the mid-point of her journey was a catastrophe.      A seamstress in competition with others of her kind, pleading for the favor of the noblest lady closest to the village - a lady hard to please - is nothing without the lynch pin of an otherwise perfectly made dress. The Seamstress would have heard the pin drop, despite the storm. She would have, but for that moment. A failure of fingers. The loss of commission. For a competing village seamstress, the loss of the thing she did with a fervor best of all....

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...

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 ...

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. ...