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The Wait

 It was a time of waiting. She understood that well enough. It was such a curious thing, waiting, she thought. To be in the midst of it was aching. Unbearable, almost. And yet, somehow, the bearing happened. Reflection amidst it helped. Likewise small redirections of one's thoughts. But if one thought about waiting too much, one would jump out of one's skin. Yes, she thought. That is exactly what one felt one would do. 

    And yet, for all that, she knew that once the wait was over, it was forgotten. In an instant. As though it had never been. Lost in that hole where past time goes, so much shorter retrospectively than should be possible according to the laws of physics.

    So she mused as she stepped to the head of the line.

    Then she paid for her coffee and went home. 

The Enough of Biscuits

 At a certain time, in most places, there were women like this woman. She was careful, hard, kind. Laughter was nearly etched in her face, as though it might have had a place there had life been different. But life required care.   It was hard.  And, perhaps adding to life's hardness, she chose to be kind.      Kind is not the same as nice.      She was not a nice woman. She didn't have the time. And people made their own choices, so often at odds with her own. Not a good quality in a person when what she did for them brought them, as often, freedom from pain. Sometimes she even gave them an opportunity to go on living. No, she didn't have time to be nice.      The woman, she brewed things from other things. Made them up from what she knew. Added what she could, with what she had. Not too much, though. No one needed to much. There wasn't enough of anything to go about having too much.      There was enough f...
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Not All the Time

The old wizard took note of the weather. The old witch did not. Both were unusual, for, respective to the persons, the day's interest and disinterest was in opposition to their usual way.       There was no particular reason for their interest and disinterest, save that they were distracted in the day by different events and chaoses. And both noted with a certain air of pleasantness that to break up one's routine in such a way proved intriguing.       They would not make a habit of it. The old wizard liked a day without attention to the elements, the witch depended upon reading the weather.       But for a day, it was nice.       For nothing in life is worth doing all the time. 
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The Witch, the Thoughts, and the Harvest

As the witch laid out the harvest, her mind drifted. There was a satisfaction in her work. A great satisfaction. She was feared, if not loved. This was not always so.      She remembered that time, the time before. When the men would show up at the door and barrage her with insults beyond belief for unsuccessful outcomes courtesy of them calling her too late. When eggs would soak the outside of her cottage, a treat of an insult given the cost of an egg. When small poos were carefully laid out in rude faces on the outside of her door, smoking slightly.      It took a muttering, just a few words. Ones that sounded pointed. Dropped under her voice, but loud enough so the nasty man could hear. From then on, all his misfortunes had a cause. From a knowing of the cause grew respect. Or fear. From a certain point of view, one is much the same as the other. The people in the village couldn't tell the difference. They didn't have the time.      But ma...
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Content

 The woman wondered if this was all there was.      Then nodded.      This was fine, she thought. Just fine. 
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