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Showing posts from March, 2019

The Peace of Perspective

The Forest King

Once upon a time there was a king who sat on a wooden throne and whispered to the birds that came to crowd and circle round his head.He was not a usual kind of king, like those who ruled with boundaries and whose subjects were the people who lived within.He was the Forest King.And his wooden throne was made from a live tree who desired to grow her shape into a chair to fit him.And when he whispered to the birds, he was speaking to his advisors who flew about the forest as his eyes and ears.
He did not stay on the throne long or often, for his birds could come to him wherever he was.Thus, he could roam the forest himself, and in this way he remained close to those he served. So it was that one day while he walked about his forest he happened upon a small meadow where two centaurs stood ready to engage in what promised to be an epic battle.Hate bled from their eyes.Anger seethed from their mouths in breaths and curses.And deadly swords shown sharp and bright in the sunlight that poured in…

The Shadows

The light shown on Anya’s fingers.It curled around her palm and danced.
This, she thought, was the sheer pleasure of having magic. But in the midst of her play, a shadow grew.It was not unexpected; it was the cost of doing magic, for it always begot shadows.But it never ceased to offer discomfort.If she could find a way to practice her craft and leave behind the adjacent darkness, she would.Anya was not fond of the dark, or shadows, or of the sense of unease that grew whenever she let the flickering brightness dance. But, too, there was a feeling of wholeness in her work.How could that be, such fulfillment when darkness lay about her?A constant wonder—the weight of it only born by extinguishing the light for a time until she could bear it again. Today was such a time.Anya took the light, and threw it at the darkness.The next breath, and it was gone. Elimination brought palpable relief, while at the same time she felt the loss of brightness acutely. These feelings, this tumult of emotions…

The Dryad's Child

Willow trees can scarcely help the fact that they cast the illusion of being dryads.That said, dryads scarcely look like willow trees, so there you are.But I cannot help but see a willow tree and think of dryads.Though perhaps that is only a trick that memory plays.
The substance of dryads is not the leaves of a willow tree, or any tree, but rather flower petals.Cream white in color, the petals can be large or small—it all depends on the coverage they desire in a given night.For night is when they come forth from their trees and frolic in the woods.To feast in a moonlit stream is the height of a dryad’s joy, and when they tire, they sink into their trees to be one with them until their next parting. It’s a curious thing, dryads being made of blossoms, for many of the trees from which a dryad springs do not produce flowers in a traditional sense.And yet, that is what they are made of.I am rambling, but time has that affect on one bent on reflection.I cannot help but think of such things.…

The Rain-Child

Rain poured down in sheets as Robin looked out the window, mourning the loss of a day spent playing outside the house.Her grandfather demanded quiet, you see, and that meant that a day spent indoors was a day spent in the doldrums of humdrummery, as far as Robin was concerned—quite frankly as far as most people would be concerned, given that the only books in the house were of politics and economics of which there were only charts and figures with no real pictures.And on a day where there was no school to attend, no friends close to the ancient estate in which she was cooped, and, of course, not a peep to be made, Robin found herself in a state of the melancholy blues. If anyone who had any experience with the curious and unusual had been around, they would have noticed that there was a tingling in the air.They would have felt that something had tilted, and that everything was not quite ordinary.And they would have known that something magical was about to happen. But Robin did not have…