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In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
7:33:59 AM 8-19-08 ∞1da Geolocation Time.
days of sleeping slip by. the light on the peaks soft, golden in the cool dawn. a shiver. the water would be cold but thirst is a motivating factor. movement would mean warmth. birds flitting from branch to branch…
stones to perch on. river jade at my finger tips. the babble of a quickly flowing stream. scooping with one hand to drink from a clear pool, the musky scent of cedar and low water.
across the wide stream, a river. actually. no. the amount of water between a stream and a river. a young buck, head bent low also drinking. antlers. how are years marked again? two prongs on each side. is that two years after reaching mating age? or four. no matter. eyes latch across rapidly flowing water. we watch each other. both still, both quiet. both recognizing in each other another survival being of dreams.
dream memory extending into long ago. no. longer than that. the rules to colonizing a planet. simple universal rules. one band of survival beings with a limited number of nuclear families from any survival being group that wishes to expand into livable planets. set down in one place – with nothing. no food. no implements. not even clothes. if they survive they colonize. if not. well. the universe is full of tried and failed experimentation. The pulse of all that is drawn into a black hole. drawn in and back out through tunnels of light that are trapped within the black hole…
the fact that more than one form of survival being can attempt to colonize one planet at any given time is both an advantage and a disadvantage. they become resource for each other as well as competition – resource and competition, as is all that is within and upon the planet.
still that cave, that First Cave. on the tip of the continent in the southern hemisphere… blue ocean view… a beginning that is long ago. how long ago? 160,000 planet years? 200,000 thousand planet years? late arrivals as we are, this is where our colonization is now. Digging to find those memories and what is left of that initial arrival…
walking up this valley on the other side of a continent, an ocean away from First Cave… funny how time advances forward and backward in both directions – in all directions – and remains the same. This now is the same now as that now and remains the same in both directions as it passes around each of us.
the sun trickling across the tips of trees lower and lower into the valley. another half an hour and it will be in my face.
might as well eat breakfast while I walk. thimble berries, currents, oh! yarrow. i could make tea. – if I made fire. If I had fire… or i could make yarrow tea because i have sun. . .
at peace within because i know i am returning to the High Portal Cave on the mountain, near the timberline. the central entrance, near the ancient pine. The safe harbor of the High Portal Cave, the entrance to a multitude of passageways, interconnecting chambers and stunning connecting points that open beyond this time and beyond this continent – before and after this continent. probably, through the right passage way opening beyond this planet. I don’t know that, it makes sense that it does. I believe I will find out in my memory or in my future. i remember some of these things and places. not all of them. i remember entering, finding the stone trough of water with the wooden drinking bowl on the damp ledge. i remember passageways that lead to incredible places and times. why return now? without knowing i know. this is the way it is because this is the way it will become.
warm sun on my chest. warm from walking. birds, quiet as i approach, resume their constant foraging as i pass. along the shore the constant sound of the river stream like the white noise of the universe, beautiful and ever present so that if i am not mindful i no longer hear it.
a walking stick. ok, a broken branch caught between boulders. still green enough to be strong, almost as thick as my forearm with little taper and altho it is not straight, it is a head taller than i am – perfect. a walking stick. a walking staff. i work it loose from the rocks. strange markings… the hand of an intelligent being – a gift then.
do images become visible on these pages or only the thoughts and sights from within my mind, i wonder. i try to remember not to believe all that i think… if i wonder… then do i attempt to find out? yes, often enough, yes. and why is short hair exciting, new, a sign of adventuring? changes. oh. perhaps. or perhaps it’s a way of changing breath. I smile. I walk on.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Images floated across the dark screen of Elizabeth’s closed eyes as she lay on the bed. She was aware of the trees rustling in the breeze outside her window, and the soft breathing of the miniature giraffes curled up by her feet. The afternoon heat was intense, heavy and soporific.
An island, strewn with debris; fallen trees and unidentifiable mangled wreckage of a stainless steel tubuler kind; splotches of blue everywhere dried and cracked into oddly shaped human-like-alien forms, and the telltale battered paint can with the word Azure showing, unscathed.
Darkness, damp smells, grey stones and spiders webs, slippery underfoot, bone coldness, and then a glimpse of lime green maidenhair ferns, a shaft of light and the sound of gurgling water….
Water sounds becoming surging tides, roaring pushing sucking head spinning weighty and then silence and the tinkling of windchimes….
A dog barks in the distance, waking the miniature giraffes. Big brown eyes atop slender necks gaze at Elizabeth as her eyes flutter open and then close again.
Last orders gentlemen PLEASE! and a jostle of bodies in the smoke and laughter and babble of voices. A crush of humans across a long wooden barrier for large glass vessels full of foam topped amber liquids. A hush. Silence falls as a glass box perched high in a corner begins to speak. Elizabeth can see the head and shoulders and the serious face, she can see the lips moving, but the silence is total and she can’t hear the words being spoken. The Big Hush, she heard herself think.
Hurdy Gurdy music and a merry go round…..grinning white horses up and down and round and round …..
Elizabeth drifted off to sleep.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Narsila was very close now, she was feeling more of her kind around, exchanging impressions and information about the area and the activities there. The storm was approaching and the humans were sheltering before its arrival.
It was clear now that the storm was not of the usual kind. It was connected with a portal, and some in her group where creating a pyramidal action to facilitate its emergence. The sooner it will open, the softer the energy would be felt. If they waited too long, the portal could be more persistent, and it wasn’t desirable.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
4:21:44 PM 8-8-08 1da Geolocation Time.
sometimes the flow climbs a mountain.
pause. step. quick step. pause again. step. upstream another step. the stones solid, smooth, settled beneath my feet with the timeless passing of water. the path of gravity. the rising of a mountain. a rapid, considered, going on pace. sand between the stones. the moments of time. light on the rippling waters flickering. the air transparent, timeless, crisp, cool.
knowing i’ve passed this way before, i pass again for the first time.
it’s good to be back. returning. beginning.
knowing my destination. the cave far above beneath the ancient pine. the boulder near the rough and gnarled trunk, slick and smooth. so hard the sense is of softness gliding with my fingers over the iridescent surface. soft to sit upon, to watch the valley far below extending forever into the distance. soft to recline upon, arcing my back. the warmth of the day in the stone, lingering far into the night to heat my bones. …knowing my destination, i take the next step into all that is new.
sitting near the water. deep transparent pools of green/blue. the setting red sun. a shelter beneath driftwood high on the bank. a myrtle tree draping a blanket of scent over me, opening my soul. with each breath. i watch the light fading into the words echoing through my skull… life is hard… the song…
Life is hard
Anyway you cut it
Life is sweet,
Like a berry from a tree
Life is temptation, baby,
Every single day
Life is hardLife is funny,
I dont mean ha-ha
It‘s not always sunny,
When it needs to be
Life is frightening,
Nothing lasts forever
Life is hardMy time
Is next to nothing
My time
Falls on you, yeah
Everything
Is in motion
Life is hardLife is precious,
No matter how you see it
Life is crazy,
Like yellow fishes in the street
Life is lonely
When you‘re not with me
Life is hardGentlemen
Is that you story?
Hanging religion
From a tree, yeah
My time
Is next to nothing
Life is hardMy time
Is next to nothing
My time
Falls on you, yeah
Everything
Is in motion
Life is hardMy time
Falls on you, yeah
Life is hard
Life is hard– J. Mellencamp – while on the planet earth.
ok. life is also beautiful. – 1da
it’s a cruel crazy beautiful world – J. Clegg – also while on the planet earth.
stars flickering in the fading twilight. the silence of a light breeze as pine boughs begin to whisper. the ache of tall trees swaying in the night with a moan like countless masts on the tall ships of a planet. blink. and i sleep.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Becky noticed with a satisfied smile that the word ‘Becky’ was by far the biggest word in the cloud. Hhhhmmmm, interesting, she murmured as she perused her random (well semi-random ~ she had deliberately chosen a cloud-batch with her name in it) selection of words.
sudden feeling!!
breathe!! 
remembered sort (appear soft?) 
~ akayli?? ~ 
seem…. cave…. yeah, huge! 
known luce; knew agreed. 
becky full power hey! 
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
When Anu woke up, all was fuzzy around her. She could remember the movements inside the wortex, the strange feeling of being dissolved into a million particles, and falling quickly as if falling from the sky.
She was feeling alone. She wasn’t cold, but not comfortable either. The soil was damp, and rain was still falling were she was. Her little bag with her GameGirl Advanced was all stained by the brownish yellow mud, but it didn’t matter.
At every moment, she expected her friends to appear once again, but she started to fear they had gone forever. Araili with its pointy dark ears, and its soft fur, Yuki, and the others. Where were they?— Anita, are you alright?
The voice was familiar, she recognized the unshaved face of Akita emerging from the shadows, and felt relieved. And she started to remember… her parents? Were they okay? They were with Akita in his werelynx form back “thenre”…
— Your parents are alright… They started to wake up, they asked for you… But we shouldn’t stay here, we have to find a shelter, because I think one of the spiders is here, and she will want to build a nest…
Anita picked up her bag and started to follow Akita. A faint whisper made her turn her back to the spot were she was… there was nothing though. But she could have sworn she wasn’t alone…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
California, 1849
Almost five months… Five whole months they’d been traveling all around the place at a very slow pace.
Twilight was enjoying every instant of being in the middle of that strange moving cohort.She had been inspired to write daily. Not much at the beginning, but it was all “in the dedication and intent that marvel would shine through”, as Felix, the Otter man had been saying to her.
In truth, she wasn’t really expecting marvels, but marvels had come to her more than once.
At times, she even felt compelled to write about it to Jo and Elroy, her dear brothers. Of course, she’d been writing with a clockwork regularity, posting sometimes more than a few letters at each of their settling near a new town, all the way from Texas, to Colorado, Utah, Nevada and finally California. She wasn’t even sure the actual letters were reaching them, but she more than once felt like her thoughts had reached them throughout the distance, and her dreams would confirm her into these intuitions.
That trip was hard, harder than she would have guessed, with all the heat, dust and chaotic dirt trails, but the company and fellowship was always uplifting, and a joy of each instant.
Even the war between America and Mexico that made travel even more perilous was over after two years, and things all around seemed to settle down more peacefully as if to reflect that truce.And now, looking at all of what she had gathered, she was amazed at these marvels she had collected, those nuggets of their lives, each moment seemingly so fleeting and trite, and yet, as they were put together, all marvelously interwoven.
Though she mostly loved passionate real-life stories, she had to admit she had a soft spot (or let it be said, an un-common spot) for one of her most delirious story.
She had been inspired to write something about giant ants after she’d been amazed at seeing huge ant hills during their trip in the deserts. There was this mad quack who was trying to extract some sort of honey from giant ants to make a powerful drug, and and she had added lots of her friends from the show inside this story. Herself was a delightful jet-black haired beauty with an impossible name and diverse and frustrated love interests, spying on the mad quack… She even started to dream about that story at times…She loved that gentle slipping into abundant nutness…
Now that they were arrived in San Francisco, she was considering settling there for a while, sharing her time between writing and dancing. Time would tell.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Passing through the security cordon of the giant spiders had been relatively easy, thanks to the indications telepathically passed down to them by the Snoot .
With Anita on her back, Yurmaela the gruffoon had come back to the borgulm tree where Claude had been left to watch. After a moment of surprise at the unexpected apparition, he didn’t take long to decide whether he wanted to stay or not and had jumped on the broad back with the little smiling girl who was grabbing on the coarse hair of the beast.— Keep you energies and your attention close to us, said Yurmaela Just like Akayli is doing with your parents, Anu. Though they have plenty of eyes, the giant spiders mostly rely on their energy perception, and they won’t see you if you stay within our energy field.
A few minutes later, they were all standing in front of the growirling wortex, partially masked by the bark of the huge babul tree, which was standing out with its massive appearance. Flames of what seemed to be dark floating matter were pulsating very slowly, enhancing the thumping sound of their hearts.
— Ready to come back home sweet Anu? Akayli said fondly to the little girl?
— Yes, it was so much fun you all came to play with me… I’d want you to stay with me.
— What do you say? asked Claude They ain’t coming?
— This reality had a special design which allowed us to project very easily here said Yurmaela very softly in that reality of you, and Anita and Akita; as for now, the barrier in that reality is thicker than it is here.
— But we are always present around Anu, you know that said Akayli kneeling down to wrap his spotted furry arms around the little girl
— Yes I know she was smiling And I miss my parents too
— So let’s go, the wortex will close any moment nowIn reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
— If you have an idea, then tell it quick, said Akita, this place gives me the creeps.
— Remember how Kay’s having this nice werewolf form in his shape-shifting bag of tricks?
— Yes, but he cannot really hold it for very long… Wouldn’t be easier if you just teleport us or something?
— Well, the thing is, yes, that would work for us, but that would take too long to teach you, not to say the parents. We can’t really count on their cooperation for now… and it’s perhaps better that way, because I’m not sure they would really believe they can do it anyway.
— So the real question is, Kay interrupted, how do we move quickly with two stoned weights?
— Exactly. My suggestion is that we combine our energies. I must say I’m quite fond of the werewolf outfit, it’s brawny and forces respect, and besides, you and Akita know how to operate it.
— I think I get your point. So how do we do?
— Just let Kay merge with you, and I’ll facilitate the anchoring, said Araili.Kay started to swirl around Akita in a swoosh of air, while Araili faded into the background to become a force-field around them, getting tighter and tighter, until all three were a ball of light and poofed back in the form of a twelve-feet tall impressive werelynx.
GRRRREAT, growled Akayli the beast. Let’s move on.
Baring his claws, he delicately tore off the mummifying silky threads to unwrap the two parents, and taking each of them under the hairy soft grey arms, sprung out of the nest to the forest in quick bounces.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The portal has opened, we must hurry said Araili
Araili had felt something more, that he didn’t want to share yet with Akita and his spirit dog Kay. He had felt that something, or someone was trying to make its way from the wortex. However, the whole area was tightly held in a sort of quarantine by the giant spiders. Their genetic ancestral memory was aware of previous huge bleedthroughs like this one, and they had what humans would call “prophecies” amongst their kin, of such occurrences being heralds of tremendous upheavals.
Araili, who was extending far beyond this guise of a lynx that he had taken now, smiled when he thought of how some of his earthly medieval focuses would have been similarly frightened by natural events like eclipses.It did not take long to them to find Anita’s parents. They were right at the spot that the big arachnid had just left, wrapped in silky spider bandages with little skin left to breathe.
— They seem alive. checked Akita. Heavily sedated, but alive… Now, we’ll have to get them out of here quick.
— I think I have an idea smiled Araili.
Claude had finally came out of what he thought was just a strange tree, but then, his preternatural senses where telling him something was wrong. This place looked different. No, this place felt different.
And smelt different too.There were soft sounds, crawlings he could hear, very near his place. They were coming from him, but he would fight.
He jumped on a tree, and in a few vigorous movements, was perched on top of it.
He almost gapped when he saw the black circle of huge spiderly creatures around his tree.They were staying at a distance from the wortex. But for how long… He couldn’t wait for his death.
From the top of the tree, Claude jumped unscathed. Taking a look around, he found exactly what he needed.
Breaking a few sharp bamboos poles, he started his move to the black circle in a prodigious and accelerated run. From atop a nearby tree, Armelle was considering the whole scene. The wortex would probably last a few hours, perhaps a bit more. Anita, Rafaela and Yuki were about to be here soon, she had warned them of the spider circle, so that they would hide until she has found them a way to get through.
She had not expected someone to come out of it. That may be her way…
Phurt was coming closer and closer now. She could feel the surge of power, and the trepidation raising all the hair on her legs. She couldn’t possibly confront all of the sisters. Not yet.
She had to find a way to get past.As if Arachneiax, Goddess of her kind had heard and answered her plea, a dying cry, confusion, and call for help came to her senses from a border of their circle. A perfect diversion…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
The woman’s voice raised softly in the dark, like a velvet caress, or the sound of a purring cat.
Life was long before I met Georges. Not unbearable, but so long and lifeless. Days would pass, and nothing new would happen but the same matter the previous days were made of.
Though I no longer align to these limitations, I was once human, born to Earth, as Georges was, in a not so distant past. Like most of my people, I was not feeling special. But my will was strong and my desire to survive too. I survived poverty, lust and violence. In the crucible of these emotions I’ve melted my fears, and it was there I found Georges too.A curtain raises in the dark. A palace in an exotic tropical place. Brunei? Al doesn’t know this place…
A young dark haired woman in a small room, around sixteen, perhaps a bit less, disheveled. She looks wildly around her, her rags stained with dust and dirt.Enters a tall woman. She doesn’t seem local. British perhaps. She’s elegantly dressed, thin mouth, high cheekbones, apparently in charge. A maid follows her. She can speak the girl’s language.
— Where is my mother? Let me out of here! she starts to cry
— I’m afraid this is not possible, Salome. For your safety,…
— What do you care about my safety!
— For your safety, Salome, hear me, try to behave. The Sultan is not a man without a heart. He loves beautiful women, and that is what probably saved your neck, considering what all what your mother did wrong to him refusing to pay taxes and her obstinate and bare-faced smuggling. Listen Salome, this might save you, and might save your mother as well.The curtain falls on the scene, where Salome hopes to have found a friend of captivity with this woman.
A few years later, still in the golden cage of the harem, occasionally asked to service the lustful and violent Sultan, I start to go explore the depths of my misery. My inner world was a safe sanctuary, a haven from the pit of hell where I was now living, after my childhood years of hard work in the forest. There, where no one was given the key to enter, I became aware of him. I first thought he was an imaginary friend, a messenger from the other world, greeting me to a sure death. But he was real. He started to talk to me. About what I could do, like him, be a Traveler, if I wanted to.
The curtain raises again. Young Salome is lying on her straw mat, in a seeming delirium. She moans, whispers, weeps, laughs. No one in the harem seem to care any longer. She is probably possessed, but the Sultan still find her suitable, she can’t be touched.
A roar can be heard in the palace. The big black-bearded Sultan Ojylam the Second, ogre look on his face, summons his guard.
— Don’t worry Salome, the voice of Georges whispers in the dark. The Sultan is mad at Madame Chesterhope. She has just fled with his precious crystal skull, but he won’t find her. She’s a skilled Traveler too, as soon you will be dear Salome, once you have learnt my last tricks, and we soon will be united.
— Why that stupid crystal skull?
— Don’t worry about it… This one is the Birds Skull. It carries lots of information and magic in relation to the Birds Realm, but it should be the least of your concerns. We’ll find Madame Chesterhope even if she’s clever at hiding between dimensions. Only concern for you must be to get out of here.
— The Sultan will know I told her about it… I should have known, he was so proud of this object, and so protective too… And she was so curious…
— That’s why we must hurry now.And so we were united for the first time. Lots of other lives have occurred afterwards, different paths at times, but always we have found each other again. Eternally bound, in a most sacred bound…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Old Narani is becoming too soft.
While the attraction of the hole was intensely beckoning, Phurt had been appointed by a strange twist of fate to the guard of the prisoners by the Old Mother.Bugger Narani whisspered Phurt, why not just kill them, these stupid two-legged animals. Why the pain of keeping them alive? Good thing the daily dose of sedative venom had them quiet now. They would only scare the mooing preys. Stupid, stupid.
Of course, it would be easy to just sink a little more than usual her sharp tooth into their neck so fragile. A regrettable accident…
Phurt couldn’t help but smile a grin as wide as her hairy eight-eyed face. But she wasn’t known as the Doctor of Breath for nothing. Her mere breath could be as sweet as a jasmine scent or terribly deadly. She had never missed a target, never could have.
She was no mere Spinner; how could the Mother have put her to such a slighting task. Degrading. For her, the most promising Hunter of her generation to be doing this while they all were securing the hole perimeter.She would have to go. Something was nudging her to move, something like a fluid water sound, that whispered that nothing could happen to those prisoners. No one would be fool enough to dare to enter the Nest.
Ahaha, why would she care? Nobody would know. And the little ones would alert her in any case.With a prodigious jump, she sprung to the forest in the direction of the hole. She couldn’t be denied her destiny.
— Is it gone now? a voice whispered under a pile of giant ferns
— I think it is growled Araili’s voice Thanks to the Snoot’s power of suggestion, I suppose… The Snoot might find spiders eggs delicacy enough to help us in our rescue operation.
— Shall we go there now? Kay? Ready to go and report back if everything’s clear?
— Ready. Rafaela was not finding it very difficult to jump on the rocky slopes. It was only difficult for her to remember to stay physically focused so that Anita wouldn’t fall to a certain death. And of course, even more difficult to resist to the attraction of nibbling a few crunchy thistles and brambles that grew here and there.
But Yuki’s attention was here to remind her, and so far, their progression had been smooth and easy.But all of a sudden, the small pink nose of Yuki raised in quicker spasms sniffing the air intently.
— What? What? asked Rafaela who almost forgot her focusing. What?! Did I fart or something?Anu who was having the time of her life jumping on the coarse back of the goat giggled at her clueless question.
— I think the spiders are moving too. We’ll be reaching the hole before them, and the Snoot tells me they won’t be moving close to it. But they won’t let anything or anyone get out of it. Let’s hope dear Armelle will spot a path for our friends.
— Not to worry, Rafaela said matter-of-factly, Army is good at spoohtting. She’s the best I know at that.
— OK, let’s move on… Claude was finally seeing a pinhole of light, at a close distance. He could just continue to crawl out his way to the light, and he would soon be release. And to cheer him up, he reminded himself that no man nor beast he feared, with his phenomenal strength agility and speed he now had. Too bad he didn’t have any time to get a proper super-hero attire he smiled to himself.
On Tikfijikoo, the Magpie’s energy maze-cloak was now lift. The fury of the cyclone was now in its full power, and the Magpies were starting their swift deployment.
The item was left unguarded in the operation room, as far as they could tell, and in the chaos of the elements, surely a few magpies would be unnoticed.They had to move quick now. The portal would be opened soon too. They couldn’t come back without bringing “it” back with them.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
This is a bloody odd place is you ask me, said Gloria. The weathers nice and all, but it’s all very ODD.
Yeah I know what you mean, replied Sharon. Some odd goings on around here, I can’t keep track of it all. My head just gets fuzzier and fuzzier.
ODD, now there’s an odd word if ever there was one. ODD, she said, savouring the sound of it. ODD. Odd…. ODD….
The more you think about it the odder it gets, agreed Gloria. She picked up a twig that was lying next to her beach towel, and wrote ODD in the sand. It’s like a tart and two half tarts, she said.
Sharon propped herself up on her elbows and peered at her freind. What? What tarts? Don’t tell me we’ve got competition arriving on the island.
Not that kind of tart, Sha, pie tarts. Look, look ‘ere at this word ODD. It’s like a pie and two half pies. If the pies weren’t halved it would be OO.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
How restless that dragon is, thought Arona. Always shifting this or that, always talking in his damn riddles. She thought fondly of Buckberry, and how peaceful and content he seemed by comparison.
She was no longer sure where she was. She had gone over it a few times in her mind, but try as she might she could not make sense of Leormn’s cryptic explanations. Or that Malvina either, although at least she is a bit more pleasant about it.
Anyway, wherever it is, it feels a bit grey, she decided matter-of-factedly. And I am missing the others, even that grumpy Mandrake if the truth be told.
She closed her eyes and began to paint colours over the grey. She was not sure what to paint at first, so she just dabbed bright blobs of colour haphazardly onto her mind’s canvas. The colours began to run into each other and form shapes and it it seemed to her they wanted to take on a life of their own. So she let them, and it was not long before she found herself in a meadow of spring flowers.
That’s much better, she thought, taking a deep breath and lying back in the soft green grass.
As she lay there her mind drifted sleepily, butterfly thoughts every now and then resting on some bright petal in her field of flowers.
Just living is not enough, said the butterfly as it danced by her head, one must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower.
Oh! said Arona excitedly, recognising the words from a far away time, You must be the butterfly of the story! The one my grandmother used to tell me when I was a little girl in the Village.
Perhaps I am! danced the butterfly and it whirled and twirled and swirled in the sky.
Arona rolled her eyes in exasperation. Now you sound a bit like that wriggly dragon. A simple yes or no would suffice.
The butterfly landed on her nose. Now listen here you! Don’t go blaming me. I am YOUR imagination!
Oh good point Butterfly, said Arona graciously. She pondered a moment … Well in that case …
And next moment Mandrake, Vincentius and Yikesy were sitting in the meadow with her.
Oh THERE you are Missy, said Mandrake. Might have known you would be lying around in some spring meadow leaving Vincentius and myself to look after your little sprog. Tsk Tsk, he tutted.
hmmm, thought Arona, that’s not quite what I had in mind ..
I would have said it’s exactly what you had in mind, whispered the butterfly, fluttering by her ear and then off again until it disappeared into the field of colours.
Arona turned her attention to Vincentius and Yikesy, sitting a short distance away in the meadow. She noticed how smooth and golden Vincentius’ skin looked in the morning sunlight, and how deep and melodic his voice was as he told Yikesy one of his seemingly endless repertoire of stories. Imagining a gentle hug and a kiss on his sweet, but it had to be said incredibly ugly face, she sent Yikesy into a peaceful sleep.
Oh great idea, smiled Vincentius with a wink. What I had in mind all along really. Perhaps you could also imagine Mandrake chasing a field mouse or something?
In reply to: Synchronicity
Coinciding with Finn’s dream about the story, Yurick has got a dream this morning too, about Finn’s role in the story and they were exchanging about Finn’s new role as Captain Fraggart, a spaceship commander loosely based on Peter Quincy Taggart in the movie Galaxy Quest. Finn was having great fun with this character and his explorations of timespace travels, and discoveries of funny and nonsensical alien worlds.
More objectively, Yurick and Yann were having much less fun washing some “white square soft cushions” (sofa covers) this week, and tremendous fun growing plants of all sorts. Some were already sprouted up while others were patiently following their natural slow flow.
No rush…In reply to: Armelle – meditations, dreams, synchs, thoughts
Finn had a dream about the story:
Yurick had divided the individual comments/posts from the story and sorted out all the ones which had something to do with dragons. Finn was gathering them up to read them, the comments looked like soft white cushions. They were sort of squarish in appearance. As she read them in the order Yurick had sorted them, she realised they made more sense than she had previously thought. Apparently, Yurick told her, he had taken them to a publisher who said he might be interested in publishing them but they would need some re-working. Then Finn was at some building she did not recognise. She told a lady that she needed to care for the comments. Finn was putting them into a row of terracotta pots and as she did they were changing into plants, some of them were quite large already, others barely showed above the soil, some looked a bit weedy and limp. She thought they would probably need some watering.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
On his way to work, Yann was singing. These last few days had been harsh to his self appreciation process, he had lots of judgments against everything he was doing. He had found it quite exhausting and quite detrimental to his relationships with his friends.
Well, despite the fact that Archibald puppet had told him about his bucket… or his garbage he couldn’t remember, and not to forget to empty it regularly, he had been submerged with stimuli from everywhere and from everybody, to the point that he wouldn’t allow a single smile inside himself.
Yesterday, they had received their furniture with Yurick, and in the process of assembling them and putting them into place, rearranging the configuration of the apartment, he found himself appreciating of his new home.
When he woke up that night, it was 5:12am. He couldn’t sleep, and he wouldn’t wake Yurick up. He had noticed several times that he had many associations with this hour of the day… like a burden, a new day of work soon approaching all that crap again and so on…All he had to do was just… yes like that, he was appreciating his own being. Himself lying in the bed, the breathing movement of his friend beside him, still and relaxed.
When the alarm clock was about to ring himself out of the bed, he was already awoken and he cut it off before it could awake his beloved. It was 7:57am.
On his way to the bathroom, Arona the cat was quite demanding of caresses… he took some time and appreciated deeply the contact of her soft fur, long and warm silky hairs.Thus, Yann was singing, and when he arrived at the crossroad just before his workplace, there was that man… and their gaze met surreptitiously. And the man started singing. Yann smiled.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Franiel awoke, it took him a few moments to get his bearings. He stretched, and slowly adjusted to his waking state. He wondered how long he had slept, it was quiet and dark. Although he couldn’t see much, he could feel that dawn was not far away. The ghost hour.
He must have slept for hours.
Remembering Leonard he looked around and softly called out. There was no reply, and unless Leonard was sleeping, Franiel was alone. “Aye” he sighed, and finding the blanket from his pack, fashioned it into a tent over his head and took shelter in it. It was nearly day, another day.
Thinking of his encounter with Leonard, the strange dancing and especially the sweet taste of the nectar, Franiel reached into his pack again to retrieve the chalice.
It is no longer there
Franiel was not quite sure if he heard a voice utter these words, or if it was just a strange sense of knowing. He still felt around, taking out each item carefully and methodically, emptying the pack, not really wanting to believe the chalice has gone, nor to consider what the implications of this loss might be.
Perhaps he did not put the chalice back in the pack after all? He crawled around his surrounds, squinting into the half light of the morning, feeling the dew damp ground. Deciding to trust what he knew in his heart already he sat back and quietly watched as the sky eventually flushed brilliant crimson.
Red sky in the morning. A warning ….it is only weather words but ….
Reluctant to consider his options, he instead considered some dandelions, how luminous they looked in the morning light.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Malika and her dog Leo stood at the entrance of the cave and was so excited to see the little draggies, she screamed with joy… and sent such loving, tender energy into the cave that all the little draggies came out to play with her and Leo, and familiarize themselves with each other. There was a mother dragon that resided inside the cave and as Malvina put her head inside the entrance, she was met with a smile, from the mother of whom was sitting atop a purplish egg.
The Mother Dragon introduced herself as Glordieoun…and said, softly, that this cave was a portal to her world, and a birthing chamber for all mother dragons, that were to be stationed there. It was a pregnancy chamber, a hatching chamber and a childcare chamber, that served the little draggies until they were able to fly themselves, and all the other attributes were in place, for them to be independent.
Glordieoun, said, that she was a bit tired and required some rest, but that she was glad that Malika finally found her way to the house, as her and all her people, knew they were now in safe and caring hands.
