Sephi's Underworld Journey

Old Blood is Better than Young Blood

2011-11-26T14:36:00.000-08:00

Richard looked around the dimly lit hall, taking in all the figures in groups and huddles milling about.

"So, All the people here are vampires? As is the blood drinking, real honest to God vampires?" Richard asked his escort Michael.

"Yes, everyone here, save for you my friend." Michael answered, his voice soft and low, its tone inviting, though reserved.

"I knew some existed, but I never dreamed there were so many!" His eyes darting in amazement as he surveyed the numbers littering the room.

"Oh, this is a quiet night. Sometimes the numbers are three and even four times this." A slight tone of amusement beginning to creep into Michael's voice as he spoke.

"And the old one that we spoke of, will he be here?" Richard asked.

"No, probably not. He's not, how shall we say it, very welcome here. We have rules. Rules that have allowed us to live among you for centuries now without drawing the attention that used to send the hunters for us. He chooses not to live by those rules, so he has left us no choice but to caste him out from us."

"But, you promised me I would have the story of him if I came with you this night!" Richard's voice raised a bit as he spoke, causing many of the eyes in the room to draw to their direction.
"And so you shall, my friend. But, not from his lips, but from whence he came to be. And the story will be told complete so that it doesn't recast the veil of fear that once threatened our kind. You will have your story, but you must promise to tell the all of it, not just of him. But, I warn you, none will believe it. In the eyes of your kind, we are but a myth told to children to keep them in their beds at night. Should they ever find "him", they will think him a lunatic and lock him away. And though immortal blood flows in his veins, he is still young and untaught and there are things that can destroy even us. He will not survive long without protection and help."

"And you would let that happen?"

"He made his choice. He was told that if he chose that path, he would have no help from us. Without the vow, he is not one of us and has forsaken the privileges that go with belonging to the order." Michael replied calmly.

Richard looked around the room at the people again. All seemed to be between their late 20s and early 40's. Some of them were very conservative in their dress, others quite flamboyant. The only thing all had in common was the pale, almost iridescent complexion. He wondered how they could all get along so well, all seeming so very different. He was about to ask when Michael drew his attention to the far end of the room and a group sitting at a table there.
"Ah! There are the ones I wish you to meet. The ones that can tell you of the old one." Michael scooped his hand under Richard's arm and guided him across the room to the two men and the woman seated at the table.

Richard looked at the three people as they approached. One of the men looked to be in his early 40's, wearing a long coat, a bright purple shirt and a top hat with neon coloured plumes adorning it. His hand resting on a beautifully carved cane, though his hand covered the top, but enough peeked out between his fingers hinting of an animal head of some kind. The younger man was much more conservative in his dress, simple dark suit with white shirt and neatly cut sandy brown hair that looked like it could tend to wildness if not tamed with dressings. The woman, now here was one that was hard to describe. It was like she couldn't quite make up her mind what look she wanted, so she just took bits and pieces of each and put them all together. She wore a black and red corset over a high-necked white Victorian blouse with a fox wrap around her neck, complete with heads biting the tails. Around her waist was a skirt that looked to be fashioned from about a thousand strips of fabric, no rhyme or reason to the choices as there were solid colour pieces, chequered one, striped ones, all hanging in various lengths from a single waistband. And over the waistband dangled on of the wide metal belts full of dangling coins and beads that you would expect to see on a belly dancer. Raven black hair hung in wild curls and flowed down her back with a single strip of blue at one temple. And on her head, she wore a pirate's hat festooned with a live raven. And lastly, was the necklace, if you could call it that, around her neck. It was like a catch-all for any trinket that seemed to catch her eye. Keys and beads, bells and twisted colour bits of twine, and bones, lot of them and even a few small animal skulls. Oh my!

"This is Richard, the man I told you about." Michael offered as we reached the table.
He pointed to the 40 something man, "This is Gregoire, 12th degree high sire and custodian of records."

Gregoire stood and extended his hand to Richard and taking a deep bow at the same time. "Most gracious pleasure, Richard." he said as he grasped Richard's hand, a slight brogue to his speech.

"And this," gesturing to the younger man, "is Raphael, though he prefers Ruffy. He is the mentor of the newly made and responsible to train them in our ways till they are ready to take the vows."

Raphael/Ruffy rose, twirled about a couple of times, made a wide sweeping bow and swept Richards hand up in his as he rose. "A joy it is to welcome a querying outsider into our little den of blood-letting!" His eyes sparkling mischievously as he spoke.

"And last, but most certainly not least, the most beloved and feared Lady Circe, punisher and bestower, seer and sage to all within the fold."

Lady Circe remained in her seat and looked up at Richard, starting from the top of his head and travelling till she gazed up the shoes on his feet. Then she looked him in the face, golden eyes with the longest lashes he thought he had ever seen, the eyes glowing and dimming as her pupils contracted and expanded while she watched him. After what seemed an eternal stretch of time, she slowly extended her gloved hand, bracelets dangling from her elbow to her wrist. "You are welcome." she toned as he took her hand and softly kissed the back of it.
"Pleasure is mine. And gratitude at allowing me to be here to answer my questions." Richard replied then took the chair that Michael motioned for him to take.

Gregoire leaned across the table and and fixed a stare on him that made Richard feel as if he were slowly becoming naked before him. Not as in the cloathed sense, but as if the veils to his soul were being shed to flutter away in a breeze. After what seemed an eternity, Gregoire sat back and issued a deep belly laugh, his eyes twinkling brightly as he slapped his hand down hard on the table top sending all the glasses to rattle violently on the surface.

"So . . . how old are you Richard? Not so young as I would have expected to be chasing such a. . . how shall we say it, a demon inquiry."

"I'll be 58 this year. Why should curiosity fade with years?" Richard replied.

"Oh, it shouldn't!" Gregoire answered with another long chuckle. "But alas, it often does. You humans often become more reserved and cautious with age, choosing the known and comfortable rather than seek out the strange. The security of the known just seems to naturally follow with ageing among your kind."

"I suppose that is true of many, okay, most of us. But, not all of us." Richard countered. "I pray the day never comes when I fail to seek out the curious and the novel. I believe that should that day ever come, it will be the day I shall start looking for the reaper at my bedside and shall gladly welcome his invite to pass from this journey to the next."

"Oh! Simply marvellous!" Gregoire exclaimed, clapping his hands like a child that has just witnessed an act of magic.

As they spoke on of his travels and experiences, Richard began to notice Circe out of the corner of his eyes. She seemed to have nothing to add, nothing to question in the exchange, even after Ruffy joined in as well. she just quietly listened to all that was exchanged and shared between them. Her silence presence became a distraction that couldn't be ignored and he found himself glancing in her direction more and more frequently to look for even the slightest change in her expression as they talked. But, nothing.

Suddenly, Michael appeared off to Richard's right side and set a wine goblet down in front of him, hand still firmly grasping the rim of it. Richard tried to think on when Michael had vanished as he didn't remember him leaving the company. Ah well! Michael looked over at Circe and for the first time her expression changed. She nodded just slightly and her lips parted in a partial smile, then she sat back in her chair and crossed her hands over her stomach.

"Well! Richard, this is for you." Michael said and lifted his hand from the goblet. Its a very special Port reserved for only very special occasions." With that, he slid the goblet over till it was right in front of Richard. "And now, I think it is time we get to the matter Richard is here for, no?" Then he took a seat at Richard's left and slapped Richard on the shoulder before continuing. "So, I suppose we should begin at the beginning, no? I find its always a good place to start."

Richard opened up his notebook then and looked up to see who would begin with the story. Ruffy picked up his glass and motioned to Richard to do the same and all glasses were lifted for his toast. "Dearly beloved . . . No, that's not right!" Ruffy laughed. "To truths to be told, histories written and prayers that maybe this once they will be written right." All heads nodded in agreement just before the glasses were raised to their lips.

As the dark liquid passed Richards lips, he felt its thick rich substance caress his entire mouth, deep, heady, spicy and very unusual. He pulled the glass slightly away and took a deep inhalation of it. His eyebrows scrunched together as he tried to make this one out. He had never smelled anything quite like it before. It was like . . . antiquity infused into a viscous liquid of spice and flowers and wrapped in the bonds of the wine. And it was heady! He could tell he would have to keep that in mind as he took another sip and looked up at his hosts, the surprised look on his face quite obvious in the looks he was receiving back.

"Before you ask, no, there is no place you can obtain the wine you are drinking. It is a special blend held secret within these walls and rarely offered. Enjoy though, my friend." Grgoire answered the unspoken question, a broad grin on his face. "Please, do enjoy!"

"And now, I shall begin if you are ready." Ruffy stated and sat back in his chair after Richard nodded. "We, our kind, have been here at least as long as your kind. It is told that in ancient times, we lived in harmony with each other, sharing int the bounties. No one is really sure when those times changed. But, as in all things, the world does change. Fear and distrust eventually find their way in when two are so very different. The need to draw lines between the light and the dark, the good and the bad. The desire to find oneself as superior and in the so doing, requires that the other be found as inferior. Who started it so many ages ago, it is hard to tell. But, start, it did. It is said that there was a time when we did not have the taste for human blood. But, the truth of that, as well, is past the time of true knowing. At any rate, the time came when both became the hunter and the hunted. Ours is a creature of the night, and yours of the day. Thousands of both of our kind fell to the other. Many was the time when it was questionable if we both would exterminate the other. Then, one day, it seemed your kind led the war and our kind fled to hide in the shadows. It may be that it was then that we first tasted human blood. Maybe it was before and that is what started the wars. The records conflict of that time."

Ruffy paused and drew his fingers along the moisture on his glass, his face cast in deep thought, eyebrows pressing deeply to the center and biting gently on his bottom lip. A deep sigh escaped his mouth and he sat back and looked at Richard, then continued.

"We were the more vulnerable. We were hunted while we slept during the day. We are defenceless then. Were. It is not so much any more for many of us. But, then we could be slaughtered like lambs. And we retaliated! We hunted mercilessly, taking far more down than we needed. We took all down that we found in our paths. Women, children, old, young, it didn't matter. In all places where we both numbered, we both diminished. We became monsters in your stories. You became nothing but blood in ours. One day, your kind found our main safe hold, one that had remained hidden for decades, possibly centuries. As I said, the histories are vague at times. We fled. We found a sanctuary in what we thought was an abandoned monetary and hid in the cellars, dusty and full of cobwebs and night creatures. It was obvious it had not had a human visitor in a very long time."

"We were not alone as we thought though. One still remained in the halls above. He found our lair. But, unlike the others, he made no attempt to destroy us or inform on us. He began to leave small gifts, offerings if you will. Never were we able to discover where he lay at night. If we had, we would have taken him. If we had, we would not be who we are today. In time, we began to ease about his presence and agreed to leave him be. Then, one night as we were awakening, he was there to greet us. He wanted to see if there was a way to end the bloody war between our kind. He offered a hand of friendship. He taught us and brought order to us. He became the first leader of our order, guided us into initiation, wrote the laws with us. He even offered up his own blood to a few of us on occasion, teaching us to stop short of taking life."

"Then, one night, one of ours returned wounded. He rushed to minister to her. He didn't know yet that we heal quickly. That she would have been fine come the next night. Her wounds were not lethal. With us, there is only lethal or temporary. He tried to breath into her, fearing she could not breath on her own. Some of her blood entered him when he did that. And it was that night we learned that your kind can become one of us."

"He began to slowly change after that. Curious, we fed him more of our blood and the transformation became more pronounced. He became one of us from that. And still, one of you as well. He was not bound to only the night. He was still very sensitive to the harshness of the sunlight, but properly clothed, he could move around at any hour. We also found that those that shared with him, they also became less sensitive. They couldn't move about with as much freedom as he could, but they could stay out in the early hours and when the sun was not direct."

"He taught us how to take blood and still leave life. In time, we learned ways of the taking where no memory of the event was left in our victim's minds. The hunting of our kind slowed, and in time ceased. We became the stuff of legends, fairy tales. We were safe. And we could again live in peace. He made us into an order and the humans believe that was what we were. They left us in our walls and believed our seclusion was part of our vows. Which, in truth it was, though not in the way they thought. We learned that we needed a few that were older to give us validity. Your kind seem to confer knowledge and respect on maturity. That we were often centuries old didn't change the fact that we looked youthful. We don't age, as I am sure you know. And those we turned, though they lived far longer than they would have as human, we learned would eventually die as your kind do."

"So, every so often, we would have to find a new leader, master of the order, if you will. We made some mistakes in the early days. We chose a few old ones that didn't like our laws. They had been powerful men and when we "made" them, they would have us return to the days of taking at will. Of restarting the war that almost destroyed us. That put is in a bit of a predicament. We had taken vows not to take lives. What to do with these rogues we had created? After much talk and consideration, we simply turned them out. Eventually, they were caught by the human authorities and believed to be insane. Oh, they tried to inform on us, who we really were, but we had been here too long without a blemish of suspicion in all those years. We counselled the authorities that hours in the sun might do their insane minds some good. Help heal them a bit, so to speak. Because they were part human, this was not a death sentence. It simply aged them much faster. And they died very natural deaths, unless one of the other inmates took their lives first. And that did happen a couple of times."

"We began to research our candidates better. Learning the traits we needed. Intelligence, learned men, men of character, and yes, powerful as well. But, powerful in a different sense. Ones that could command power and yield it so that others would follow, would respect. They were not easy to find. Not easy then, not easy now. Sometimes, we had to travel to find them. But, never again were we without an "old one". And a mistake such as we had made in the early times has not happened in a few hundred years."

"Until now." Richard commented.

"Yes," Ruffy replied softly. "Until now."

"So, tell me about him. How did you make a mistake after all this time?" Richard asked, turning the page in his notebook to ready for the next chapter.

Gregoire inched his chair forward a bit, leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. "I guess its my turn." He stated with a hesitant, almost displeased tone in his voice.

"The blood is like a fine wine to us. Each has its own flavour, the spice of experience, hint of laughter, subtle undertones of sorrow and imbued with the essence of the soul. And as such, we each develop a taste for those certain combinations that are to our liking. Much like those of your kind that prefer the reds over the whites, the fruitier wines, the flowery wines, the dark mature wines." Gregoire paused and glanced over at Circe who for the first time, shifted a bit in her chair, then glared defiantly back at Gregoire before shifting back into her stolid state.
Richard watched the exchange, his curiosity peaked.

"We have rules . . . laws. We are all bound to them. No matter how many centuries we have to us, no matter how high our rank, we are all of us bound by those laws!" the threat and accusation evident in his voice.

"Old blood is better than young blood." a soft voice issued from Circe's still figure. "Is. I'm just saying."

"All of that is fine," Gregoire continued, his voice quieting to a low vibration "so long as we remember that we can take as our tastes inspire. It is in the sharing that the forbidden is involved."

His gaze travelled back up to meet Richard's eyes, the softness returning to his features as he relaxed back into his chair. "Our kind is not so different from yours, Richard. The personalities, the characters, all of them. We also have our creatures of impulse, and as it so often goes with their kind, they are creatures much adored and often with invaluable gifts to the community. And unlike those that don't care about the rules and think they don't apply, often they sometimes allow their impulses to get a bit . . . . uhmm . . . . carried away with them. They get caught up in the moment and after it is done, believe that it will all work out in the end. And sometimes it does." He glanced back at Circe again and she tipped her head low, staring back at him with eyes that were equally glowing with anger, remorse and guilt. "And sometimes it does not."

He took a deep breath, picked up his goblet and took another deep draught off of it. "Which brings us to now. I am sure it is quite apparent that our dear Circe here is the one responsible for the one that brought you to our company. Our Circe is one of the most revered of our members, she is our seer and the keeper of the secret wisdoms. But, she forgets that the err is made when emotions are allowed in to cloud what is seen. That often, our desires replace the true visions. She additionally made the error of becoming romantically involved with her victim. This is another thing that is expressly forbidden. And one of the hardest things for us to do sometimes. As different as our kind are, they are also very much alike. So, attractions can be quite common. But, the differences between us make such a liaison both dangerous and impossible.

"Though, on that count, I put more of the blame on him than our Circe. He was, is a . . . how do you call them? Oh, drifter. A master manipulator. He thought our Circe a wealthy heiress, though we are not sure where he got such an idea. He wooed her as a lover and she took her sips of his essence on a more and more frequent basis. He gained her trust over time and she eventually confided in him what she was. And then he convinced her that if she made him one of us, they could always be together. Though we already had a recently appointed old one, she saw no harm in bringing in another one as her personal pet."
"Her personal pet?!" Richard sputtered, sending sprays of the thick wine across the table.

"Yes, her pet!" Gregoire replied, then laughed heartily. "Calm down Richard. Its not so bad as it sounds. When a mortal is fed only from a single of us, they become bound to us and their need for just another taste of our blood becomes overwhelming. Its not something that they need to survive. Its more like those of your kind that develop substance problems. It seems to be a weakness many of you have. That forbidden fruit, that taste, that moment of pure euphoria, it drives all common sense from your minds. And you will do anything, anything, for that one more taste. And before you think too harshly of us, we didn't create this weakness in your kind. And I can assure you that those that have been taken in though such a way, had already succumbed to this need in their nature in your world in one of its many way. In some ways, we are actually saving them. The blood does not harm them, does not kill them. And they lose their taste for the bottle or the needle or whatever their drug was when first they taste it. They still have their free will. They just choose to set it aside for another taste. And I can assure you that it is not allowed for one to abuse their pet."

Circe looked up at Richard with a slightly cocked head, mischievous smile on her face, then shrugged her shoulders and giggled softly before turning back to her glass to draw circles and patterns in the liquid with her fingertip.

"As I was saying, the bulk of the blame goes on him and how he manipulated our Circe." Gregoire continued. "She has been judged according to her part in it and fulfilled the terms of her punishment. I doubt she will repeat such an error in judgement again. Not given the knowledge of what was created by her mistake."

Circe's head dipped at this and Richard thought he saw her eyes begin to glisten a bit with tears at this last comment.

"As I said, he refused to take the vows, abide by the rules. He saw in his new "blood" a means to achieve power and control that was beyond what his mortal life would allow. And he became drunk with the knowledge of it. We warned him he would be cast out. Even had we not already had an old one, he would not have been acceptable. He laughed at us as he strode out the door and swore we had not seen the last of him. Even we were surprised to learn the extent he would take that threat."

Gregoire grew silent after that and sat back in his chair, a strained look on his face, weighing on it, adding years in a moment to his features.

Michael leaned forward, crossed his hands on the table before him and cleared his throat. "He did the unspeakable!" Michael said, his voice shaking and broken. "He, whose name is not permitted to be spoken in these walls for what he did. He sought his revenge at being banned from our presence by hunting and taking the life of our old one. Left his remains, throat ripped out and drained on our doorstep. Drained his essence to obtain the knowledge that was in the blood, hoping to drink in the knowledge of power over us. Thought to take from us the face of the master and reducing our standing in the community. Thinking we would have to take him back in or lose our status. When that failed, he tried to accuse one of our members of committing the heinous act. It proved how much he underestimated us. The evidence he planted was turned back to him and it wasn't long till he was charged with the murder. He has bellowed accusations about what we really are, thinking he would be believed by someone. And as in the past, one of ours was assigned to him as his therapist and sun therapy has been prescribed for him. Additionally, he has been put on a meatless diet. So, he has been denied even the blood of animals to sustain him. He is withering rapidly, the madness growing each day. Not only is he newly made, but he is also single fed, which makes him even more vulnerable. We are certain he will not last too much longer."

"I didn't realize he was incarcerated. I had just heard rumours about such a one. Seems my information is a bit outdated" Richard said

"Well, its been in all the papers. I can't imagine how you could have missed it." Michael fixed him with an intent stare. "I thought there was little that happens that misses your attention."

"Oh, wait! Now I know what you are talking about! The crazy psycho that left people ripped up like a wild animal had gotten to them! Yes! I do remember that. And also that he attacked a guard at the hospital who only lived for a couple of days."

"Yes, unfortunate that was. We found that he had given him some of his blood to create another to bond with. We stepped in on that one and helped him slip mercifully from life."

"But, I thought that was against your laws!" Richard exclaimed.

"Normally, yes. But, as in all things, one must allow for . . . how shall we say? . . . special circumstances. By this time, he was truly mad, insane. And the insanity would have infected his blood. Which, in turn, would have infected the guard with his insanity. Not to mention the fact that the wounds he inflicted on his victim were so extensive that even if not for the fear of spreading the insanity, might never have healed completely. You must understand that wounds prior to being turned are not the same as those after, which can heal overnight. He would have been scarred to the point of monstrous; and insane. So, in mercy, we helped him simply slip away. And because of that last incident, have moved to see his end come just a bit swifter. Before any others come to harm."

Michael looked up at Richard's face, probing for some reading on how this was being taken in. Richard furiously scribbled out the last bits of what he had been told, beads of sweat blurring his vision as he wrote. He chewed on his lower lip as he let all he had heard sink in and begin to process. Then he looked up at his hosts, all of their faces turned to him.

"And this is the story you want me to carry out in the world and set to print?" Richard asked, hesitancy weighing on each word.

"Yes." Michael replied "Just as it has been told, leave nothing out."

"Okay then." Richard said as he snapped his notebook shut. "Exactly as it has been told. Though the world will think I have taken to fantasy writing. You shall have what you ask." He swallowed down the last bit from his goblet and stood up from the table. "I guess I better get started then. I have a lot of writing to do."

"Wait!" Michael commanded. "There is still the matter of payment for the story."

"Ah yes, that." Richard's face paled and he took a deep breath. "Will it hurt?"

"Just a the tiniest bit at first and then it will be as a dream." Michael said, smiling reassuringly.

"Okay, well I guess I'm ready."

Circe stood up and walked slowly over to face Richard. "You're the one?" Richard stammered. His only response was her slow, and so very seductive smile as she wrapped her arms about his neck and slid her body up against his. A tiny prick and then he was floating, clouds in an azure sky, his body weightless, like all the muscles relaxed, all the strain lifted. Then slowly, he began to shift back till he felt the hands recede from his neck and he was looking into her eyes. Slowly, she took a step back, wiped the slight drip of blood from her chin and smiled at him.

"I guess that wasn't so bad." He said, gathering up his things and tucking them under his arm. "I'd like to say it was a pleasure, but I'm not sure that would be completely accurate, but I do thank you for the evening. And I hope you will understand if I am fine that we don't do this again." He stammered.

"Oh, but you will, my friend." Michael interjected.

"I'm sorry?"

"My friend, this is but the beginning. You see? We are in a situation where we are without an old one, as we told you. You have been chosen. This, tonight, is just the beginning." Michael laughed.

"But, don't you need me to agree? I mean, you can't just make such a decision for me! It requires that I also drink your blood, which I can assure you, I have no intention of doing. And I can assure you, you cannot force me to do!" Richard glowered at them.

"Oh, but my friend, you have. You have been all this evening!" Michael replied mirthfully. "What do you think that so very exotic wine has been that you have been sipping on this night? You carry within you a bit of all of us. It takes a little time, but by morning, it will have worked its magic and the transformation will be taking place. So, may I say Welcome to the fold!"

Richard's heart began to race and he made a rush for the door. About halfway there, his mind started clouding and he felt himself falling. A few of the others caught him before he hit the floor and carried him to a bed in one of the rooms to sleep off the night.

Gregoire looked questioningly at Michael. "Oh, calm down. Once he wakes, the transformation will have begun. He will join! We chose well. He will suit us nicely." Then he looked over at Circe and smiled. "You did well, dear lady! The last is now forgiven."

Circe looked at him and smiled in gratitude, then turned and walked slowly away. Soft though her voice was, it was heard by all in the area.

"Old blood is better than young blood! Is all I'm saying. Yes, it most certainly is."

SephiPiderWitch 11/26/2011

Ghost Story

2011-09-08T19:18:00.001-07:00

Lamia walked quickly down the lane, Epona at her side, strutting in that cute way she had, tail fanning in the air and ears perked for every sound. Pulling her cloak tightly about her as a chill wind picked up and etched against her skin. Not very fashionable in this age, but she had never much cared about fashion. It kept her warm, even through the winds, and she felt protected in its heavy folds. She glanced about her as she walked to see if any were marking her journey into this night. She was fairly certain no one would, at this deep hour and on this night of all nights. They would be huddled in their houses summoning prayers and wards against their fears of this night. She watched anyway, for the stray eye peeping from behind a curtain or through a cracked door. As it was, the people thought her wanderings odd and she preferred them to know as little about them as was possible. She saw no need to further stir their superstitions and fears unnecessarily. That, as well as her preference to keep her life as private as possible.

The night was clear save for a few wandering wisps of clouds dancing across the black blanket of the sky. The moon, not yet risen, lay hovering just below the horizon waiting for the proper moment to announce itself. Full, it would be and the closeness of its orbit promised it would light the sky and bathe the earth in silver showers.

She approached the gate just as the first glow illuminated the horizon before her. She paused for a moment to take in the birth shimmer, then reached out and opened the gate. It gave way with a slight moan and she looked again over her shoulder to make sure no one had heard it. Quietly, she entered onto the narrow pebbled path and made her way along its twists and gentle hills, pausing every now and then to touch a headstone here, whisper a greeting to another off to the side, and listen for the soft replies.

Lamia took her time, breathing in the damp smell of decay mixed with the wild growth. She could feel about her the slow churning of the old and discarded into the new. The sleepy whispers of those who rested here were slowly beginning to awaken, and she listened quietly, a light smile on her lips as she took in their soft murmurs.

The veil was thinning already. She must hurry! She approached the large hill at the center and paused for her first look this night at the majestic tree on its crest. The patriarch, they called it, older than any could remember, older than their grandparents could remember. She called it the Spirit Keeper. Faces seemed to loom from the surface of its massive trunk, ghostly, surreal and changing with each shift of light upon it. It was as if all those who made their rest here had passed through it, leaving just a shade of themselves within it before moving on. At least it was so for those that had found the will to move on. Others tarried, out of confusion, fear, or desperation to cling to what was once theirs, but no longer could be, and some simply because they liked it here. And a small few because there was still something they had to shed before they could move on.

She climbed to the top of the hill, up to the base of the giant oak and placed her hands gingerly upon its surface. A gentle tingling sensation spread into her hands and up her arms. She had lost count of how many times she had stood in this same place, begun this ritual; it never seemed to lose its impact on her. She smiled at the deep lulling sound she heard in her head, that she knew to be a welcome. Then she sat her pack down at its base and began.

The small blanket was laid down first. Her welcome gift into the world, her mother’s as well, stitched with prayers and spells by her great grandmother. Next, came the candles. Six of them this night. The count was always different, but always just the number it should be. She needn’t know why, she would before it was done. She lit them one by one, offering a prayer with each one. Then she sat down on the blanket and removed the bread and cheese, placed them on a napkin, then her thermos. She opened it and poured herself a cup, brought it to her nose and let the warm vapors fill her head with the deep aroma of herbs and spices. She took a small sip, then picked up the bread and cheese and leaned back against her tree to watch the moon’s ascension.

The air seemed to still as the orb grew in its ascent Vaporous forms rose gently from the ground, like smoky tendrils of a cigarette on a lonely night. They hovered quietly just on the edge of her vision, sharing in her watch. Their quiet revelry carried into her and united her with them. She never felt alone when she was with her spirits, unlike how she felt when she was surrounded by the living world.
Lamia knew her kind were few, those that walked between the worlds, never truly belonging to either. But, it was only the living that feared that in her, thought her a witch, or worse, a necromancer. She did her best to fit in on the fringes, immersed just enough to appear acceptably eccentric. She made the obligatory appearances, though it drained her each time. Their chatter, from their minds as well as their mouths, rattled her. They seemed never content, never at home with the life they had, the place they had.

It was only here and away from the workings of the world that Lamia could feel at peace. The spirits, her spirits, were never in a hurry. Each moment took as long as it needed to. Each passage would happen when its time had arrived. And until then, they just existed in what was. Graveyards weren’t haunted as people often thought. She knew that if the spirit travelled here with its earthly body, it was ready to lay that other life aside. It understood that those things that most thought important in the world of the living became trifles when the flesh had become discarded. But, a few things still remained. Love always carried with them between the worlds. It was the thread that most often held them connected to the world before. And it was also the hardest to convince them that they would still have after they cut that thread to travel beyond.

The moon had fully risen now, its massive globe filling most of the sky just before her. She rose to bathe in its glory, then turned her head at the sound of soft laughter at her side. She joined in the laughter as she watched the child spirit chasing the moonflies in the darkness. She hadn’t seen this one before. How curious! Thought she had few dealings with the people, it was a small town and everyone knew of the birthings and passings of all its members. She knew older spirits to lay quietly for many years before coming forth from their earthy slumbers, but a child rarely tarried for long. Especially one as young as this one was! A tingling spread along her spine and Lamia knew this was the one she was sent for this evening. She motioned the young spirit over to her and sat back down to wait.

The child shade made her way slowly over, pausing every now and then to take a close look at something that caught her attention. Lamia smiled in amusement at the realization of how much like living children child spirits were.

They found her the next morning slumped against the tree, the hood of her cloak blown away from her face and her hair making streamers in the wind. The burnt out candles in a half circle in front of her. And in the center of them, a pile of flowers, all of them different, as if each had been brought from a different place and offered by a different hand. A couple of the women crossed themselves at the scene, but all lent a hand in carrying her body and gathering her remains to take back to town.

They buried her at the base of the great tree. They placed her on the bare side where nothing had ever been known to grow, away from the other graves. Unsure, they had to bury her in hallowed ground, but fear made them keep her away from the others. They placed a small headstone on her grave that read, “Lamia of our town. Born, we know not when. Died on this spot on, her body laid where its spirit left it.”
The next spring in the bare place where they had laid her, a blanket of flowers had sprung up, though all swore they had not planted a single seed. And every year thereafter, the flowers came back.

It is said that if you visit her grave at the right time of day and look up into the great tree and turn your head just right, you can see what looks like the hood of a cloak lifting up between the higher branches and the soft features of a woman’s face peering out from underneath, a taproot cascading down like a wayward tendril of hair. And on a night when the veils grow thin, when there is just the slightest of breezes in the air, if you find a place to sit under that great tree in the center, you might catch a stirring of low voices caught in the wind. And if you listen quietly, you might chance to hear a gentle woman’s voice beckoning to those that can’t find the way.

SephiPiderWitch
09/08/2011

Paradise

2011-07-04T17:09:00.000-07:00

“You’ll love it there Aunt Joanie!” her young niece pleaded. “Just give it a chance. It’s truly paradise! It’s beautiful all the time and you can go exploring in the jungles and learn about all sorts of new plants and things. There are all kinds of social things where you can meet new friends. We have a small house all set up for you. And we don’t like being this far away from you. Grant and his wife are willing to move in here and take things over and pay you a nice rent. So, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Joanie looked at the imploring face of her niece Sandy. She had never been able to easily refuse this one anything, from the first moment she first laid eyes on her when she was such a tiny waif, suitcase in hand, smudge of dirt on her face and eyes glistening with tears the day she was brought to her house all those years ago. Her parents had died in a car crash, Sandy the only survivor. She had never had children of her own. In truth, she was never quite sure what she would do with them if she had. But, she hadn’t needed to give it any thought when the call came asking her if she would like to take her sister’s child. She was sure she was never the normal kind of parent to Sandy. Never talked to her like a child. Mostly, she just talked to her much like she talked to herself.

She fell in love with the child from the moment she met her though. So full of life once the grief passed. There was little she denied her young charge. They both flourished in each other’s company. And the years seemed to flash by, the tiny orphan of yesterday now a beautiful young woman, imploring her yet again to do her bidding. She sighed deeply. She knew she would give in. If for no other reason than to not be parted from her by so many miles.

It was beautiful on the island! All green and vibrant colors of exotic flowers, their scent permeating each breath of the air. The temperature never strayed more than a few degrees and the people were so friendly and greeted her with the welcome of a refound family. She spent her days trying to learn the histories, the stories, the landscapes. Languid hours were spent with Sandy wandering the lava encrusted mountains, attending great lavish gatherings on the island and simple quiet evenings under the stars.

More than a year passed in this paradise, days moving into weeks which coursed into months. She began to lose track of the time. She had settled in nicely to this place where time seemed never to change. Then they received the letter one morning that her renters needed to move on. He had found a job in another state and it was too good for him to pass on.

After many hours of discussion, Sandy convinced her aunt that maybe she should sell the old home. Sadness filled Joanie’s heart, but she realized it would be better than it being left abandoned.

“I need to go back though.” She told her niece. “To collect the things I want to keep from the house. To say my goodbyes and put all in order.”

“Do you want me to go back with you?” Sandy inquired.

“No, this is something I think I need to do by myself. I need some time to say goodbye to my home.”

It was early fall when she got off the plane and caught the ride to the old house. Tears filled her eyes when it came into view. “Home” it whispered to her. “Not anymore” she sighed to herself. “But, always in my heart.”

She went to bed early that first night, the jet lag wearing on her, drawing her eyelids down hours before the normal time. She awoke the next morning to the sun streaming in the window, casting a fanfold light across everything in the room. The song of the birds just outside, their song so different from the ones of the island. She smiled at their song and laid back down against the pillow and closed her eyes to hear them in her soul.

She sat out on the porch, sipping her second cup of coffee for the morning gazing at the sun resting on the tips of the trees. She looked back in the door and thought for a moment about the things she needed to do today, then took another swallow of the coffee, grabbed her shawl and headed down the path into the woods.

A cold snap wove in tendrils in the gentle wind, nipping gently at her skin at the same time the sun bathed it in a warm caress. She breathed in the air of the forest, so fresh, so old. The ground was soft with layers of decay and growth, littered with more decay and the end of the year shoots dancing around it. The leaves of many of the trees were already beginning to turn. Their edges forming a delicate lacework of yellows, golds, reds, oranges. Fall was as awash with its vibrant dying colors as Spring was with its birthing colors. It was as if life wanted to ensure that its exit was celebrated as its entrance.

On and on she walked, till she came to her favorite hill in the center of the forest. A stand of great trees stood on its crest, watching over the valleys below. From here, she could look out and see for miles, the waters cascading off the mountains in rocky rifts, the lake, far off in the distance. She sat down under the tree and let the beauty of it lull her into a dreamstate.

The sun was dipping toward the other side of the trees by the time she drew herself back up to head back to the house. There wouldn’t be anything done this day. Save for making a light supper. It was worth it, she thought. There was always tomorrow.

A soft crunch under her foot just before she came to the end of the path drew her attention downward. She reached down and picked up the fallen leaf. The first to come to her that had given up its hold on the life that held it. She pressed it to her chest and walked the rest of the way to the house.

“But, I don’t understand why it is taking so long!” Sandy pleaded on the other end of the phone. “It’s almost winter there, you should have been done weeks ago at the very least.”

“That’s okay, dear. I was thinking it would be nice to spend one last winter here. I miss the snow, the bare branches, sitting in front of a warm fire. I miss the feel of winter. I don’t think I can say goodbye without building at least one last snowman. You’re more than welcome to come out here yourself and spend the holidays. They just seem more festive when there is frost on the windows, don’t you think?” Joanie chimed back.

“Oh, you are just impossible!” Sandy giggled. “I don’t think I can get away, but if I can, I will try and make it out. But, after this, I expect you to finish up and get back out here. I want you here with me.”

As winter made its entrance, Joanie watched the first snowfall from her window with the usual wonder it always gave her. She donned her coat and gloves and ran out the door, tipped her head to the sky to feel the first snow kisses of the year. Oh, how she had missed these days! She lost time on that island. Every day was the same as the next. The only way you could tell what month it was is if you looked at a calendar. Here, you could mark the passing of time by the changes outside your window. You felt the seasons and they became a part of you. Each one held its own beauty and its own dangers. But, she felt she was a part of life here. She sighed deeply as she went back inside and began to heat some milk for a cup of hot cocoa.

She’d been unusually tired these last few weeks. Maybe she should go and see the doctor. She made herself a note to remind her to call him at the beginning of the week. Then she took her cup of cocoa and went into the study to write.

She wrote her niece the letter she had been putting off for far too long. She had changed her mind and wouldn’t be returning to the island. She understood Sandy thought it was best for her in her waning years, but she just couldn’t leave her mountain again. She didn’t want to be warm all the time. She couldn’t take going back to where every day was the same as the last. She wanted to be here, where the cold bit the end of her nose and the thunderstorms could shake the house. She needed to see the colors of changing. She needed the smile in the spring when the first mother deer with her fawn stepped into the clearing of her yard. She needed this old house with all its creaks and moans, her bed with its window full of stars. Maybe most wouldn’t call this place a paradise, but they needn’t live here then. It was to her and for her, here she would remain.

Sandy knew what the letter would say before she had barely begun it. Sadness and understanding filled her at the same time. She knew it was a mistake to let her aunt go back to that house. That she would lose her if she did. She tried to explain to her husband that it was no use. Her aunt was a part of that old house. They would just have to plan more visits there in the near future.

She wept deeply at the service. A part of her was gone now. It was as if she had lost her guide through life. Though she tried, she barely heard a word said at the service and walked the path in a daze through the woods to the hilltop. She had asked to be buried here where she could sit forever under her trees and help them watch over the valleys below. As the first handful of dirt fell on the lid, Sandy looked up and saw the view through her aunt’s eyes and a sad smile crept onto her face.

As they headed back to the car, her husband asked when they were going to put the house on the market. Sandy started at the question, a cold chill running through her entire body. She looked at the house, set deeply into the trees, the memories sweeping over her of her childhood. She took a few deep breaths and looked imploring at her husband. “I think I may just hang on to it for a while.”

She couldn’t help looking back over her shoulder as they drove off, the colors of late fall washing the leaves and catching the light like stained glass. Maybe she would come home again some day as well. Maybe.

SephiPiderWitch

07/04/2011

The Whispers on the Stairs

2011-06-24T09:13:00.001-07:00

Whispers on the Stairs

“I’m telling you I heard voices!” Calliope spoke softly into the phone, her fingers fidgeting with the cord, twirling it onto and then back off her fingers. There was a charm to these old phones, the cord giving her a feeling of connection that seemed to be missing with the new cell phones and headsets. She was drawn back to the handpiece as she heard her friend asking if she was still there. “Yes, I’m still here! Where else would I be?”

“Well, what did the voices say?” Dorothy asked.

“It was hard to tell. It was very soft. A whisper. But, it sounded like it was saying ‘here’. And another time I think I heard it say ‘they’re waiting for you’.” Calliope replied.

“They? What do you think ‘they’ means?” Dorothy queried.

“I have no idea!” Calliope answered. But, I have heard it the last couple of days when I go up the stairs. During the day, it is more like a quiet murmur, too low to make out. But at night, I can hear the words. The first time, I thought it was my imagination. But, I’ve heard it every time I go up the stairs, always the same thing. Oh, and something more that I can’t quite make out.”

“That would scare the shit out of me!” Dorothy exclaimed. “I think I would be grabbing my stuff and not stopping till I was out the door and as far away as I could get!”

“Well, this has always been an odd old house. I used to think it was a magical place when I was a child. I think I would believe just about anything where this place is concerned. The truth is, there is nothing about the voice or voices that sounds threatening in any way. Its more like the house is trying to tell me something. I’ve looked all around the area where I hear it and I don’t see anything unusual anywhere on those stairs. I suppose its just one of the mysteries of this house that I may or may not figure out.”

“Well, you’ve never been known to be afraid of things any sane person would. I don’t know why I should expect that to change now.” Dorothy sighed, a slight amused tone in her voice. “Other than the voices, how are things going there? Any idea how much longer you are going to be there?”

“I have no idea!” Calliope replied. “This place is like a Wonderland! I start to go through things and then I find something that makes me stop and I lose time as my mind wanders. So many things stir all these memories of my time here as a child. Its almost like time just stops during the day. I pull a book down from the shelf and open it and find I have to take it over to the chair and sit with it for a while. Then before I know it, hours have passed. I tried to go work in the kitchen yesterday, and go through the jars of herbs on the shelves and I swear the smell of something wonderful simmering on the stove fills the air. The more jars I opened to examine, the stronger the smell was. I found myself sitting down at the table with my coffee cup and my mind drifting back. I could hear the sound of the spoon stirring the contents of the pot, the warmth of the stove cooking, the murmur of voices chattering over the rising vapors.”

“Are you sure you want to sell that place Calli? You don’t have to, you know. You can work from anywhere and it just seems to me that place has a hold on you that maybe you shouldn’t discard.”

“What am I going to do with a place like this?” Calliope exclaimed. “Do you know how big this place is? This is a place made for a family. A large family! And it needs so many things done to it to even make it ready for that! Do you know there are rooms in this house that she never even wired for electricity? I have had to wait until daytime to clean some of them because of that! And after dusk, I need to carry a lantern with me or a flashlight if I want to look into them. The truth is, this place is going to cost me a fortune just to even try and put it on the market. And that’s just the house! I think I will need a team of gardeners to clear up the yards here so they are even somewhat presentable. I couldn’t imagine what it would mean to think of trying to care for something like this on a daily basis!”

“Well, was just expressing my feelings dear. It just seems sad to me that you would let go of all the memories that place has for you. I think the stories you have told me of your times there are among the few that I have heard true happiness in your voice. But, I do understand. It would be a huge responsibility and easy to see why you wouldn’t want the burden of it. Enough of that! So, how’s the new project going? Have you been making any headway on it?”

The two of them chatted most of the morning away and by the time Calliope hung up the phone, she realized she wouldn’t get much of anything she had planned done this day. So, she snatched her wide brim hat off the hook and headed out the door and into the sunlight.

She strolled slowly through the garden, letting the scents of the budding flowers fill her senses. As unkempt as this garden was, it was still one of the most beautiful gardens she had ever seen. Even without tending, the plants continued to thrive. Though, the lack of tending had sent them into wildness. The small, carefully groomed plants and herbs she remembered having grown into a lush, near jungle state, its scents almost overpowering as she made her way through.

She came to the other end of the garden and noticed a gate she didn’t recall having seen before off in the corner. Curious, she wove her way through the tangles of branches towards it. The gate almost fell in her hand as she pulled on it. “Well, that’s yet another thing that needs tending!” The branches of low bushes completely covered the path and it took all her efforts to push her way through them to the other side. When she emerged, she froze at the sight before her.

It was an old graveyard. But, what was so surprising was that the entire area was beautifully kept and manicured. All the stones were clean and upright, the grass and flowers tended and cut. She had been at this house a thousand times and she was sure she had never seen this place! She thought she had explored every inch of it. How had she missed this? And who has been keeping it up, she wondered.

She wandered slowly through the gravestones, reading the names and dates. They all seemed rather close together, she thought. And the names! She didn’t recognize any of them. Oh wait! That one over there has a familiar sound to it! She searched her memories to try and pull up why it had a familiar taste to it. But, it was just out of her reach. Ah well. She thought. I guess it really isn’t that important.

She sat down on a small hill at the edge and pulled her notebook out of her pocket and let her mind wander. It was a very peaceful place. But then, she had always been fond of graveyards. She found that if you could still your mind, you could almost hear the voices of the spirits gossiping among themselves. It was a most relaxing way to spend the afternoon. She took a deep breath of the early afternoon air, opened her pen and let the place put its touch on her.

It was almost dusk by the time she headed back. She would have to hurry to get back before it got too dark and she had not thought to bring a lantern with her. She was startled as she reached the gate to the garden when she heard what she thought was the sound of laughter behind her. Straining, she thought she heard words coming from the area. “Soon. It’s almost time.” She shook her head briskly to clear the words from her head and rushed through the garden to get back inside before the last rays died.

It was late by the time she pulled herself from her place in the big chair and the book that had swept hours of the evening away. She set the book down on the table gently, stretched her stiff limbs and grabbed the lantern to head upstairs for the night.

They were louder this time when she reached that place on the stairwell. “Here!” the voice insisted. “Right here. Look! They’re waiting!” She brushed the hair from her forehead and stopped, a long sigh escaping from her chest. Then she set the lantern down and turned up the flame.

“Okay, you win! What’s here? And who’s waiting?” She asked the steps. She allowed her eyes to scan the steps. As usual, she found nothing different here than the rest of the stairs. She allowed her fingers to run across the smooth wood of the stairs, but everything she touched was smooth, no hidden crevices, no marks that might give rise to further inspection. “There’s nothing here!” she shouted at the stairs. Exasperated, she reached for the lantern and then out of the corner of her eye, she spied a discoloration on the wall at the edge of the step she was on. She moved the lantern closer and made out a small rectangular section of wood. “How odd!” she muttered to herself and reached out to touch it. There was a small indentation on the edge of it and when she pushed on it, it made a clicking sound and a tiny door opened.

She sat down on the step, her breathing coming in quick gasps. Would this house never finish with new secrets? She took a deep breath and slipped her hand inside the opening. Her fingertips landing on a small oddly shaped metal object. Slowly, she drew it out and took it in her hand. It was a key! And a lovely one at that. One of those old ornate skeleton keys like the ones they sell in the antique stores. Not like the rusty old ones that came with the house. She turned it over in her hand, admiring it, its giltwork scrolling on the top, let the weight of it cradle in her hand. As she closed her hand tightly around it, she was certain she heard the house sigh and the whisper on the staircase exclaiming “Yes!” and a peal of giggles. Chills ran up her spine at the sound and for some reason, she was suddenly alert as if she had slept the whole night and filled with the energy of a child.

She knew what the key would open! There was no doubt in her mind and she jumped to her feet and bounded up the rest of the stairs and down the hallway.

She stopped before the old door and looked at the carvings on its surface that had always held her fascination. She took a deep breath, opened her hand and slid the key into the keyhole. As she opened the door, closed for so many years, she could hear it breath “Welcome!” as she pushed it open. Slowly, holding the lantern before her, she took her first step across the threshhold, let the light begin to fill the darkness of the room and as the sight of what was before her, her heart filled with wonder and she stepped all the way in and closed the door behind her.

SephiPiderWitch

June 24, 2011

Fire Season

2011-06-09T18:49:00.000-07:00

Fire Season

Fire Season was approaching!

It begins when the blistering sun of summer and the Easterly winds have scorched across the land, draining it of every last drop of moisture and seeming life it had within it. The people draw inside their homes, shut their doors and windows from the air, so hot it scorches your lungs just to take a breath. Then the cold comes to take its hold. And the clouds begin to crest the horizon, too high for their drops to arrive with little more than a taste to make the land weep for more. They clash in the skies above, charging the air with energy as the thunder shakes even the stoutest of trees in the depths of the ground and the lightening streaks across the sky in an endless play of bolts and balls and rippling energies of light. And when they touch upon the ground and taste the dried and decayed matter, they erupt in flames, consuming ravenously all they can reach.

We sit and watch this display. We hope our homes made of our special bricks will resist the dancing inferno. And we breath in the energy that has charged every atom of the air during the fire storm. It enters us then, and if we let it deep inside to the seed within, it ignites us as well. Its a powerful feeling to have the fire storm ignite your seed. When it does, it releases you in a way that you cannot imagine. You always have the choice to only let as much in as you choose to. It is “your” seed, after all.

We are taught of this from as early as we are able to learn. We are also guarded from it, from its influence, until we are old enough to make that choice ourselves. And when it is time, our guardians will step back and we can look upon the fire storm and choose to either welcome it or turn it away. But, once we let it in, we must set aside our childhood and move into the realm of the adults. Some resist its calling for a few seasons, wishing to remain in the innocence and protection of the uninitiated. Some will embrace it at the first opportunity. A few escape the protection of the elders and enter into it at too young an age and are consumed by it. And a small number choose never to allow its full touch. Each have their own reasons and each have their own place here.

I reached the age of choice a couple of seasons ago, but held back. Instead, I waited to watch my friends. I wanted to observe how they were changed so as to better know if it was something I wished for myself. I have always been less impulsive than many of the others. And I wasn’t willing to give up who I was till I learned if I didn’t like who I would become. For there is never any truly going back once you have taken that step across that line. Oh, you can choose not to take it again in the seasons that follow. But, you will still be forever changed for having taken it at all. Given that knowledge, I wanted to be sure before I crossed that line.

Last season, as the fires danced across the land, lighting up the skies in their reds and oranges and yellows and blues, and the doors swung open on the homes and the way was parted for those that felt the longing to take those steps. I found myself moving forward and across the threshold into the fiery night.

The fire shot and swirled about us as we began to dance and sing in the clearing. Walled in by the flames, the thunder crashing in the heavens, the skies split by the bolts, we breathed it in, letting it reach down and touch that seed, protected for all of our lives until now. Feeling it now for what it truly was.

We became the fire when our seed ignited, equally ravenous, equally devouring.

I saw him for the first time that night, or I saw him in a way I had never seen him before. But, when our eyes met, our fires joined together with each other, weaving a fiery cord that pulled us closer together, until we touched. We were wrapped in a pillar of our combined flames at that moment, set aside from all else and at the utter mercy of the desire that pounded in every cell of our being. And we devoured each other with our desire, each touch igniting new dancers of flame on the others skin, each taste giving fuel to the fire, each movement raising us to even higher levels than before. Till finally, we merged. The skies seemed to open above us then and we were floating. Floating in a cool air that did nothing to dampen the heat of our desires. In fact, it just raised them to a higher level. Up we went into the sky, a twisting, undulating ball of molten fire till that one last pulse snapped the seed open and the wash of stars floated down to bathe our searing forms.

Some of us mark the days till the next season, forever hungry for the consuming and the being consumed. The seed shooting new and different growth with each merging. There are some that always choose the same other to dance with, time and time again. And there are others that will find a new partner to do the fire dance with each time. Each way creates growth in different ways. And the children born of the fire dance are the most treasured of our kind. Few stay past maturity, longing to merge back into the fires from which they were birthed. They enter the fires alone and dance a dance that even an artist cannot dream of before they are wrapped in the embrace of the flames and taken back in.

Though a few do remain. And they never cross the threshold when the door is thrown open. They just stand and watch, no sadness, no regret. Simply a look of understanding on their faces and never leave their place till the very last dance has been done.

So, you see? For us, the Fire Season is truly a time to celebrate!

SephiPiderWitch

06/09/2011

Spare Parts

2011-05-27T20:31:00.001-07:00

Spare Parts

“What’s in there?”

“Just spare parts.” I replied.

“Spare parts?”

“Yeah, you know? Just bits and pieces and remnants that people discard as unneeded.”

“Okay, and what do you want with other people’s discarded junk?”

“Oh, you would be amazed at what can be done with spare parts. It really is quite fascinating some of the things one can acquire because someone sees no use for it. They say that one man’s trash is another’s treasure. Those words could not be more true. I can spend hours in that room studying and tinkering with the things I have collected through the years.”

“Well, can I have a look at your ‘treasure room’ then?”

“Sorry, no one goes in there but me. It’s kind of my private little sanctuary.”

“You can be an odd one sometimes! Fine. Have it your way. Are you ready for dinner?”

“Just let me grab my coat.” I said as I headed toward the door.

We sat in the quaint little restaurant down the street and chatted over the hearty meal. He had been depressed for some time now and needed someone to talk to. I listened intently as my friend spoke of all the unrequited dreams and desires of his life. I reached in my pocket and pulled out the small box and set it on the table. He glanced at it for only a second, a fleeting moment of curiosity passing across his face before continuing.

On and on we talked into the evening. He poured his heart and soul out to me through the meal, on through dessert, then coffee and a few drinks after. The tension slowly slipping from his shoulders and lines beginning to smooth across his brow. By the end of the evening, he was smiling gently, his heart feeling eased, as if a weight had been lifted from him.

“Thank you, my friend” he said as we stood at my door. “I can’t tell you what this evening has done for me.”

“My pleasure.” I replied. “It was just as beneficial to me and I thank you.”

He gave me a questioning look and shrugged his shoulders before turning to head to his car. As I walked through the front door, I reached in my pocket and drew out the box, a shimmer of excitement passing through me as I made my way to the door to the room and opened it. Gently, I lifted the lid of the box and the whisps floated out.

I sat in my overstuffed chair and watched as my friend's lost dreams joined the play with the others. Such joy to watch dreams freed to expand and create and weave themselves into the dreampestry in this room. Yes, this room was mine, private. There was no guilt to feel for what I had made here. I took only what was resented, not wanted. How sad for them, how lucky for me that they felt their dreams were only spare parts.

SephiPiderWitch

05/27/2011

No Magic at All

2011-05-20T16:07:00.001-07:00

The soft rays of the sun caressed the dawn skies, awakening it to the touch of morning and bathing it in a gentle light of flowing colors. The shadows stirred forth from their hiding places and the creatures of the day began to emerge from their own slumbers. A wash passed over the tops of the rows of trees, setting light to the dew mist upon their leaves, a starshine net cast upon their peaks.

The air was soon bathed in the warm glow, stretching to meet each thawing touch. A small form stirred from under one of the trees and stretched out her arms, then rubbed the sleep from her eyes with her curled fists. A tiny thing she was, far too small to have slept the night away alone in the orchard. She tugged at her bedraggled clothes, pressing the wrinkles down with the palms of her hands, then smoothing her hair with her fingers.

She looked around her, rose and began to wander through the trees, so neat in their rows, so sheltering under their welcoming branches. They sang her a lullaby last night, she remembered. Beckoned her to come lay at their base and laid their branches draped in leaves about her for warmth. The bruises she carried into the orchard with her the night before had been faded by their touch and she felt a smile slip across her face as she looked up at their peaks.

Small shining globes dangled from the hanging branches, pinks and yellows and creams. A beam of sunlight shot through the openings in the branches and lit upon a rowed cluster of them just over her head. The bright dart of light set the red apple in the center aglow, like liquid crimson. Tiny lingering drops of dew reflected back shimmering sparkles, begging her to come closer.

She stepped beneath the branch and looked up, trying to figure out how to reach the light temptation. She jumped, straining her hand to reach it and missed. Again and again she tried, never getting any closer. Finally, in frustration, she sat down on the ground and began to weep. She wept till the tears ran out and wiped her eyes and looked up. The branch had swayed downward, the apple barely dangling by its thin stem. Then a soft breeze floated through and cut through the thread still holding it to its mother, till the glowing orb fell just in front of her feet.

Slowly, she reached out and picked it up. She brought the apple to her mouth and took the first bite. Oh, so sweet it was! Greedily, she devoured the entire fruit, core and all. There was no magic in what happened, no magic at all. They fall naturally from the trees, they do. She thought these thoughts, her belly full of the gift and laid back down on the ground at the base of the tree. As her eyes closed, the branches slipped downward and covered her small body providing a blanket for warmth.

SephiPiderWitch

05/20/2011

Kiss of Death

2010-10-30T16:53:00.001-07:00

KISS OF DEATH

She didn’t mean to kill him, never wanted him to die. She wanted only what everyone wanted, to be touched, to be loved, to be part of something beyond just her.

Eris looked down on his lifeless form and wiped the tears from her cheeks just as the fear began to creep in. How would she explain this? She couldn’t tell them the truth. Even if they believed her, they would still condemn her and find her a monster. She had to get him out of here, remove any trace that he had ever been here. It would be night soon. She could secret him out then, take him home where when they found him, they would think he died of natural causes. Yes, that is what she must do! So, she gathered his things and put his clothes back on him, placed his keys back in his pocket and waited.

The first faint rays of the predawn were softly illuminating the sky as she pulled back in her driveway. The black skeletal branches of the trees reaching up to the sky as if to grab the last morsel of darkness before it was swept away. Their bare fingers strike deep within her, sister spirits to the barrenness of her soul. She took a deep breath, then got out of the car and went inside.

Eris looked about the room as she entered and took in what must be done. She turned on the stereo. Dark Gothic music fills the air, the instruments throwing Cathedral waves through the room pierced by the ethereal voice of the singer. She allowed it to enter her and spur her into action. She walked across the room and picked up the glasses and plates from the table, took them into the kitchen to wash out the evidence of the shared evening.

The sun was well up by the time Eris finished and all memory of the night before wiped clean. No scent of him lingered, no trace of anything beyond her remained. She drew the heavy curtains, lit the candles in the room and took a seat on the cushion in the center, a glass of liqueur in her hand and lets the music begin to carry her away. She gazed at the flames curling and licking the air in the fireplace. She loved the dance of the flames, the feel of the warm heat touching her face, the soft tendrils of smoke reaching up. As she watched the flames, her mind began to still, a quietness entering her soul and her thoughts began to slowly drift.

Images and memories began to float through her mind The faces of the past began to stream by, the scents, the feel of their fingertips upon her arm. Each tale unwinding, opening itself, recounting in her mind, taking her back to each moment, each touch, each final embrace.

There was John. The first, with his eyes as blue as a spring sky and a smile that could make you forget everything bad in the world. He could make her laugh as no one ever could, either before or since. It wasn’t hard to be swept away by this gentle giant of a man and he wasted no time in sweeping her to his side. Those were easier times then, girls were expected to keep their distance. Keep it or lose respect. That was when she was still naive, when she thought they were just stories told told to frighten her into good behaviour They tasted of the stuff that fairy tales were weaved from. Not things that were of this world. And such cruelty couldn’t be true. She couldn’t be so cursed. And the more time she spent with John, the easier it was to push it from her mind and believe she could have what she had been made to believe had been denied.

It went on for months, the days riding the pastures, talking in the little cafes, strolling through the parks and going to the theater. The countless hours they spent talking and laughing and sharing their worlds. She began to relax and forget. And they talked of their futures together, of the life they would share. Then came that fateful day when he bent to his knee, took her hand in his, then slipped the ring on her finger. A moment later it was all gone, in the blink of an eye, his body slumped at her feet.

She put him on his horse and sent it flying with her whip. Then she ran. Ran until the tears had ceased to flow. Till she no longer knew where she was. Or who she was. Only that the words spoken to her when she was a child were echoing, pounding through her mind. The stories wrapped around her and she could no longer deny that she was them.

How many more were there after John? There was Claire, the beautiful artist that painted the dreams of angels. Her desire, so fierce, she couldn’t resist. She was a force of nature that carried all it came across with it. She never dreamed that Claire could be a danger, for such a thought was unnatural. Even for one such as her. But, from Claire, she learned that such bounds do not exist in love. The wicked cherub cares not where he shoots his arrow, nor finds fault where it lands. She learned that the night of the showing as they stood out on the balcony of her home and Claire reached to touch her face. Then leaned and she felt the warmth of her breath almost touching. Her loss, thought a suicide by everyone, sending her work into fame after.

Dear, sweet Charles. So like a child in many ways, trusting, innocent and patient. She held him at bay for the longest. It wasn’t hard as he never pressured her on anything. That is, until the day of the accident. He was so afraid she couldn’t love him anymore and wouldn’t believe her until she proved it. He never left the hospital and they believed his heart just wasn’t strong enough to recover from the injuries.

So many more through so many years. So many times she tried to seclude herself from others, from temptation. She even tried secreting herself in a convent once away from temptation, away from tempting. But, the young priest with the haunted eyes spirited his way into her heart. She was not the first he sought to seduce, so when they found his broken form at the base of the tower, they assumed his guilt had driven him there.

It wasn’t long before she began to realize that she didn’t seem to age as others did. It would not be safe to stay in one place too long. It was only a matter of time before others took note of it as well. So, she became a wanderer, a gypsy, moving from city to city and eventually across the continents. She watched societies rise and crumble, was witness to the intense goodness in the hearts of men as well as the unspeakable evil. It was this intrigue with the complexity of them that held her locked to them. No matter how many times or ways she tried, she couldn’t keep her distance for long: ever and always drawn back to them. And always there would be another one that would reach out to her and touch her heart.

The curse of her kind was told her when she was but a young girl. Her kind, it was said, had been around for as long as humans had. It may be that they came from the same seed. Always they were drawn to each other by a need that wrapped them in a net and bound them, one to the other. Their desire, a calling that could not be dismissed or ignored. She was told of the cautions she must take in life. That she must harden her heart to their calling. Or at the very least, not take them into her heart. She listened to all the tales, all the cautions, all the histories. But, they made her feel alive as nothing else did. And even when the tales proved true, still she hoped that maybe there was one who could rise after the kiss. One that didn’t grow cold after.

The flames had died to glowing embers as she began to return to the now. She set her glass down and rose to begin putting out the candles She heard voices approaching from outside. She peeked out the curtains and saw the car out front. Panic seized her and she began to go over everything in her mind of what could have been forgotten. She was always so careful! She heard their footsteps coming up the walk to the door and felt a wave of panic setting in. Did she forget something? Did she leave something? Was she seen?

She opened the door to them and invited them in. There were three of them, so official in their crisply pressed blue uniforms. They begged admittance and the door seemed to open to them of its own accord. His sister had found him there, they told her, when she went to pick him up early that morning. A stunned look swept over Eris’ face. She hadn’t known about any plans he had. She felt a small sense of relief when she looked up at the officers and it was obvious they registered it as shock over the news and offered up condolences.

She took each one of them in as her mind began to whirl over what to say, to do next. The older, heavy set one with the ruddy cheeks and playful eyes. He was no worry to her. The gentleness in his gaze told her all he felt was compassion. The young slim one as well was not a concern. He hadn’t been on the force long, still nervous, eyes darting about the room and wiping his palms on the tops of his legs frequently. He was here to watch and learn. That’s why there were three of them and not just two.

But, the one with the grey eyes, so intent, so serious, she knew she couldn’t lie to him. He watched every breath she took, every move she made, listened far beyond the words, making note of the inflections and every movement that accompanied them. No, this one would spot a lie in an instant. The tale must be told in truth. That she could do. There were ways to tell the truth that could turn the story in many different directions.

So, she told them of her night with Mike, of their time together and how they had met. Answered everything they wished to know of their relationship. How they had spent the day together, then had dinner and wine. Except she said they had dined at his place. And that the hour had grown late, so she had begged his leave. And she had left after kissing him goodbye.

The grey eyed one watched her for a few moments, then closed his notepad. “I think we’re done here.” He told the others. But, his gaze never left her as they walked to the door. She could feel her heart racing as she watched them walk to their car and closed the door slowly, leaning against its weight for support.

She jumped and almost screamed when the rapping came to the door. She looked through the peephole and her breath caught in her breast and pressed against her heart when she saw him standing there.

Carefully, she opened the door to him and he peered in at her. “Sorry to bother you again and I do realize its been a difficult night for you and this is probably not a good time, but when you are feeling better, I was hoping you might have a cup of coffee or some lunch with me sometime.” Eris couldn’t find any words as she stood before him, a flash of heat spreading across her face, her throat so tight she could barely breath. She took his card, nodding slowly and then closed the door behind him.

She took a few deep breaths as she walked away from the door. Then a gentle smile spread across her face as she thought of those deep grey eyes, his smile and the nervousness in his voice when he asked her. Maybe it would be okay this time. Maybe they could just be friends and the kiss need never happen. Maybe.

SephiPiderWitch 10/30/10

Arachnafelorpion (New Version)

2010-05-16T15:41:00.000-07:00

Arachnafelorpion

The tiny figure slipped demurely from the shadows of the building, hesitantly, like a mouse, darting glances about for the dangers potentially lurking in every corner, then shot across the alley and slipping back into the shadows of another building. She looked about her for an exit, a sanctuary at the least, so she could gather her thoughts for her next move, preferably one that would offer a true escape. Out of the corner of her eye, she spies a door about halfway down the alley, just slightly cracked open. She rushes quickly to it and peers into the darkness beyond, then slips inside and pulls the door closed behind her.

They lumbered noisily into the alley, debris crashing about them in their invasion and sending scurrying the scavengers of the night. The smaller, weasel faced one diving into the trash bins, tossing its contents in a torrent above his head before leaping back out.

“Not here, m’lord!” he squeaked as he landed on the ground beside his companion. A grimy creature who promised to smell as fetid as he looked, his long beak nose the sole feature visible under the dirty single lamplight of the alley.

“Well, she has to be here somewhere, Allbritch, you worthless pile of worm dung!” the other yelled. He was as massive as his partner was slight. A giant lumbering creature shrouded in a long dark coat, with arms hanging unnaturally long at his side, with massive hair coated knuckles balling into fists just below the sleeves.

“She turned this direction. There’s no where else she could be. Keep looking, dammit!” Then he slammed one of his massive fists against the wall, opening a gaping hole in it, sending his weasel faced companion darting through the rest of the alley, peering in corners and testing doors.

Desolinia stood with her back and hands pressed firmly on the inside of the door, taking deep slow breaths to slow her heart thundering in her chest and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light within. Gradually, the geography of the inside began to take shape and her chest began to relax somewhat. It was an abandoned warehouse or factory of some sort, broken machine skeletons and crate remnants scattered throughout. She made her slow way across the room, making sure to take inventory of all potential hiding places and potential exits. As she crossed into the growing darkness on the other side of the room, she spied a door at the far corner. She bolted toward it, excitement racing through her veins, only to discover it firmly bolted shut with iron bars and heavy locks.

She sunk to the floor desolate. She was so very tired! She had meant no harm when she opened the gate into that room. All she had wanted was to take a small peek around and spirit away before anyone had scent of her being there. And she would have done so if the small thing hadn’t looked at her so imploringly. She had never seen the like of it in any of the books she had ever browsed nor any story that had been told her. A sprite-like whisper of “something”, the creature glimmered in frantic sweeps within its enclosure, begging freedom and being dimmed by the loss of it. How could she refuse such a plea, how could she turn from offering aid to such a one? So, she stole quickly across the room and released the latch on its cage.

Like a firefly, it burst out and into the air, a trail of sparkling dust weaving behind it. She giggled softly at the spectacle, her ears filling with the sound of tiny bells showering around her head. Then gently, it lighted upon her hand and set a bag and a stone in her palm then vanished from sight. She fingered the stone softly before slipping it into her pocket, then tied the bag to her belt, its size and weight expanding as she let it drop. A knowing smile crossed her face, “a fresh magic bag!” It seemed fortune was smiling on her this day.

Just then she heard the voices above and started. She had tarried to long, they would catch her scent. And there was no telling what they would do when they discovered she set their “pet” free. Quickly, she made for the gate and did her best to cover her trace as she fled.

She had been fleeing from them for days, maybe weeks. Sometimes she had thought she had eluded them, no sense, no trace of them in the vicinity. But, just as she was about to relax and loosen her guard, she would spy one of them around the corner, at the edge of her eye. So far, the bag of tricks had kept her safe, kept her one step ahead of them. A small pinch here, a slight dip there and she would “shift”. She lost track of how many forms she had taken, each one taking a toll on her waning energy.

And now here she was, trapped, in this abandoned building; they, close on her heels. They wouldn’t lose her scent this time, this she knew. She heard the small one as he entered the building, his nasally breathing whistling in the air. The thundering bulk of the other followed right after and she looked frantically about her for a place to hide. They would surely find her where she was if she didn’t.

She spied a gaping opening at the end of the hallway and crept slowly towards it and slipped inside. It was an old service elevator, the floor creaking slightly under her weight. She froze in the corner, fearing more movement would stir another sound sure to expose her. At least she could hide for a time in here, as she waved a concealing door in front of her. It wouldn’t offer protection for long, she knew. Her magick was almost gone. But, maybe there was just enough time.

Slowly, she reached into the bag. It was almost gone! She wondered if she had enough for one last “shifting”. She pulled the stone out of her pocket and held it tightly. She had never figured out what its purpose was. Maybe just something to hold on to, something of substance. It glowed faintly in the darkness. “Hmmm?” she thought, “its never done that before!” Now, to the form.

She thought deeply on the memories of the beasties and creatures of fantasy, searching for the right one, the right combination that would make this work. She heard them approaching, it was only a matter of time before they figured out that the only place left to look for her was in the elevator and the door in front of her was as insubstantial as the air it was woven from. But, summoning a creature from story or mythlore was most dangerous. One need rely on the accuracy of the telling and hope that there did not exist an older, more dangerous version that might emerge in its stead.

Their footsteps approached nearer and she stilled her breath and willed her heart to soften its beating. She could smell the rank staleness of them. There is nothing so vile as the scent of stolen dreams and magicks left to rot upon a trophy cord. Softly, she drew in her breath and wishpered a prayer to her spirits and released her substance to their will.

A soft twitter-giggle echoed gently through the elevator shaft. Desolinia was no longer so timid. Her spirits had served her well. She rather liked this new form. Seems they fashioned her out of some of her favorite creatures, the sleek feline body, all these wonderfully tactile legs and such a tail! That barb could slay her most formidable enemies Now she supposed she needed to give herself a name. Hmmmmm???? A knowing smile spread across her face . . . . . Arachnafelorpion! Desolinia giggled again and began to draw herself further up the shaft by her silken thread. She could hear their distant voices cursing her below. She had found a form even “they” couldn’t pursue. She placed the stone back in her pocket and leapt out of the top of the shaft. It was a bright sunny day out. She figured she had earned the right to enjoy some of it.

Persephone May 16, 2010

Reclaiming

2010-03-26T18:49:00.001-07:00

Reclaiming

Soul weary and with a leaden heart, he slung the pack across his back and began to walk. He walked until he lost track of how long he had walked, till his mind was stilled save for the placement of the next step, long past the time where he crossed others upon the trail, till the muscles in his body screamed "enough!" And still he continued, placing one foot in front of the other. It was as if the trees were beckoning him onward, parting just slightly to show him the way. And still, he continued. Still further he would have gone, save for the fallen trees that barred the path forcing him to veer off to find a way around.

He pushed thorugh the brush and branches and heard the soft trickle of water nearby. So, he pushed a bit further away from the path to look for its source. The soothing crystal sound pulled at him until he found himself in a small clearing.

Soft rays of sunshine poured through scattered breaks in the branches and the mossy veils of the trees. The small steady stream of water slipped over a crease in the hill to play across the rocks, casting prism glimmers of light on the slope before coming to rest in the small pool in front of him.

He let his pack slip from his shoulder onto the ground, then slowly lowered himself down beside it. He pulled a small bag of food from the pack and leaned back against an ancient tree stump, a furrow in it a perfect fit for his spine, its gnarled roots granting a cradled seat. He slowly began to eat, allowing the silence to fill him, the scents to intoxicate him and the low heartbeat of the land to lull him..

He slipped into a gentle slumber and was awakened by a sense; a presence maybe. He looked around him to notice the sun had dipped slightly, shifting the shadows and play of light around him. Off to his side, he noticed a slender stump robed in a deep carpet of moss, rising up from the ground like a small moss-robed man. He smiled at the thought, remembering the stories he had been told as a youth of the fey spirits of the forests. He could see in this visage how such tales got their birth. And the more he looked upon this man of moss, the more real he appeared to him. It was almost as if he could sense him waiting, listening. But, for what?

He leaned back and watched it for some time and the spell of the forest touched him once again. "So, its a story you wish to hear, is it?" He asked the little man. "Well, fine then. Then tis a story you shall have." He reached into his pack again and pulled out his pipe, filled it with some sweet smelling tobacco, lit it, then leaned back against the stump and began to talk.

His story, he began to tell, of his life. The words, slow and faltering at first, then flowing into a stream whose dam has broken, into a torrent of tales. He spoke tales of his pains and sorrows, of his joys and accomplishments, and of course, his failures. He recounted the tales of his youth and many adventures then. Of his loves and his losses, and of his children. Of those he had said goodbye to far too soon and those whose brief touch left an indelible imprint on his soul. He spoke of those that had loved him and those that had betrayed him and laughed at how often they were the same. He wept and he laughed as the stories poured out. The miles and the years and the lifetimes he had experienced, all were told, all revealed.

Silently and patiently, the figure listened. An understanding being who had all the time in the world for him, who begged to hear, with his quiet countenance, all he had to tell. So, on he talked, telling the secrets he had never told another soul. He told of the things no man speaks of to another. The secret fears and the unfulfilled desires locked and guarded so deeply within.

And deeper, the sun began to slip. And on he talked, till his voice was hoarse from the expense, till there were no more words to speak. And still the figure listened, silently, patiently, till the last word had been summoned forth

The night had stolen in during this time and the man smiled gently on the robed figure in the dark. The telling lifting the weight from his heart, his soul finally at peace. He closed his eyes to the night and slept, his mossy guardian never leaving his side.

She broke into the clearing, eyes full of wonder at what she saw there. She began to snap pictures of all that was about her, the sparkling little waterfall, the trees with their drapes of feather moss, the birthing blooms of Spring. This was the kind of place that dreams were made of, that held the promise of fairy dances and midnight rites, of the ancient gods and a time where nothing was beyond belief.

A shadow fleeted off to her side, catching her attention. A small gasp escaped her lips as she spied the partial circle of moss covered figures. She began to snap pictures of them rapidly, from every angle. Worshipers frozen in time, the wise ones of the woods, guardians of the forest. They looked so real, she thought, as she set her pack down on the ground. "I'll bet you all have such stories to tell!" She pulled her notebook and pen from her pack and sat down. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathed in the forest, and listened till the first soft whisper slipped into her ear. "Yes! Oh Yes!" she exclaimed, opened her book and began to write.

Sephi'PiderWitch March, 2010

The Beauty in the Beast

2009-08-28T17:05:00.000-07:00

The Beauty in the Beast

The liquid amber rays of the afternoon sun bathed the small clearing, dancing lightly upon the surface of the ripples in the stream below and showered the fringes of the clouds above. A kaleidoscope of wildflowers swayed gently in response to the touch of the breeze’s beckoning. And behind, the sharp, stark faces of the mountains tore their way through the earth to try and touch the sky, the shock white of their tips branching rivulets downward to form an inverse crown marking their majesty.

A lone figure sat at the top of the hill looking out over the symphony of nature at play below, sketchbook on his knee and easel before him. He let rest the tip of his paintbrush to his lip, closed his eyes and slowly inhaled the scent of life and allowed it to fill his soul. Slowly, his eyes opened and his gaze returned just as the figure moved from behind the shadows of the crop of trees.

He watched as the figure moved over to the stream, let slip the cloak from about its shoulders and as the light fell upon the figure, he drew in his breath. The misshapen figure sat down on a boulder by the side of the stream, sunlight catching upon the small shocks of sparse hair upon its head, almost translucent with lack of color. Its body deformed and twisted in such an unnatural way that it evinced pain to just look upon. He could not imagine what it must feel like to be trapped in such a body.

Its gaze turned upward to a hawk crying out in joy as it played in the waves of the air currents, soaring gracefully among them and swooping down to survey the ground for movements proclaiming dinner. The light caught the side of its face and the artist got his first full look at the creature’s face. Creature, because he did not know how else to refer to it, so far removed from human countenance that he had ever seen. The head and skull misshapen, the skin scarred and marred by lesions and disease. The horror at the monstrosity before him was almost too much to bear, he who worshipped beauty, embraced it and drank it like ambrosia. And ill though it made him to look upon the monster before him, he could not take his eyes from it.

Dusk began to slowly settle in and the painting that was the sunset began to draw its brush across the sky in a swirling movement of colors and bath the clouds in their haunting iridescent glow. As the sun began to slip from view, the shadows began their descent upon the land, looming ever downward and casting a half light through the branches and whispering the first summons to the conjuring of the night. The brilliant orb of the full moon kissed the earth in her ascent, her swollen form overflowing and radiating soft light, bathing all it touched in its blue-gray shimmers.

The monster rose and raised its arms out toward the rising beacon, stretching out its fingers as if to touch the glowing orb. And the darkness that was night closed further in, filling in the light voids and spreading darkness like a storm sweeping the land. As the last of the golden rays vanished and the silver glow of night was all that was left, the creatures of the night began to awaken and emerge. As is the case, the ones that crawled were the first to come forth, ravenous and devouring in their very existence. Then began the calls and songs of the night as the creatures of the air and land awakened as well to prepare to begin the night hunt.

And still the monster stood, arms outstretched and bathed in moonlight. And still the artist watched, unable to tear his eyes from the scene.

Dark wings cut through the air before it as shadows swept across the ground below. Then it raised its head and opened its mouth in a song that rang out and pierced the blanket of the night. A song of such beauty, he thought his heart would burst from its touch and he would melt within the flow of its waves and his mind was swept to another place that was both no place and all. When the moment passed and he looked again, its clothing had been shed and discarded and it was taking gentle steps to the center of the clearing. When it reached it, it began to spin slowly, lowly and then began to dance.

He still could not tell whether the creature was male or female as he watched its lithe movements in the soft glow of the moon. Movements which grew in energy and intensity till they became a dervish swirl that held him mesmerized and feeling faint. The deformities lost in the swirling movements, the ugliness transformed to grace and beauty in the undulations of the movement. He watched with the creatures of the night as they danced with it and worshipped with it till the moon crossed beyond the place of light and he feel asleep on the ground before it.

When he awoke, the sun was bringing the first taste of day to the sky and the creature was picking up its cloak from the boulder. Just before it entered back into the forest, it looked up at him and their eyes met, then it melted into the trees and was gone.

No one understood the painting in the gallery or what might have inspired such a thing. It was unlike anything to ever emerge from his hand. The elegance of the scene so vivid, you could feel the textures of the land, smell the scents in the air. So stunning was the sheer beauty of it, so intoxicating, it took your breath away. And at the edge of the woods where the trees met the land, a creature. A creature so vile, so damnable in appearance that it pierced one’s heart with its horror, and yet so riveting, you could not tear your eyes from it. No explanation was ever given as to its inspiration, or what was meant by it no matter how many times he was asked. All that was given it was a name; The Beauty in the Beast.

Sephi'PiderWitch

August 28, 2009

A Quiet Disturbed

2009-07-25T19:54:00.000-07:00

A Quiet Disturbed

Swirls of mist rose up from the ground, hovering gently above it, caressing it and checking its substance. A stir breathed into it and moved it in swirls and undulations, soft glows emanating within its depths like bodies swimming and riding the currents. Diffused faces looked around, disoriented, seemingly lost and confused. The glows shifted in varied hues and shades of colors within the deepening churning mists, soft muted colors from gentle pastels to demure shades so dim as to be barely perceptible. Occasionally, small sparks of light emerged as if a few tiny stars were trapped within and trying to escape.

The soft curtain of silence that was night became slightly severed with low unsettled whispers. At first, it was but a couple, then it began to multiply, urgent, confused, questioning. It sent ripples through the night air, awakening more spirits to join and bringing disquiet into this place of quiet sleep.

A small voice cleared the murmurs of the others, a soft voice, but clear as a crystal bell. “What has happened? I slept, I dreamt, all was complete, I was divine. I was alone and now there are many. It was quiet, now it is disturbed. There are so many! How came I to be in not the place I should?”

The shimmer behind the voice looked about. Their voices underlying the silence like the hum of a far off machine that is just within the hearing range and can’t be dismissed. They permeated the air and sent ripples through it that made nerves ache.

The sky began to lighten as the morning sun slowly crept upward. The unease grew within the voices, their movements quickening and the disturbance in the air rising. Their glows began to fade as the light grew till all that remained was the mist and the murmurs of the disturbed air.

Day crested and the gates were opened. Soon, a group of people made a slow, ritual way inward, their eyes downcast, their purpose focused. They found the assigned spot and began to take their places, waiting patiently for the last stragglers. Some shifted uncomfortably for a time while others looked around them and still others simply stood in contemplative silence.

They began. And the disturbed mists felt them and made their way over. They watched as the mists slipped in and about their feet as they began to speak. The mist rose and thickened, and as it rose, they felt a weight that was beyond the weight of this day, a weight that was beyond theirs, and yet felt like it should be, descend upon them and envelop them. As each took their turns to speak what they had come to say, they found other words issuing forth in the midst of their own, words that came from their mouths that were not theirs. Their sorrows made more bare, amplified, as they felt the anguish of the displaced.

A small girl stood off at the end of the group, holding tightly to her mother’s hand. She smiled as she looked to her side and saw the shimmer that was the small voice and they reached out to each other. The girl looked up at her mother and tugged gently on her arm to tell her. The mother leaned down and the girl told her of the shimmer that could no longer dream and the mists that had been forced out and had no home any more. And the mother heard it and believed that the weight of the day had been too much for the girl and tried to console her and tell her it was but her imagination playing tricks upon her. The girl sobbed and nodded, but never let go of the shimmer that held her hand.

As the last words were being spoken, the shimmer began to quiver and tightened her grip on the girl’s hand. She tugged gently, imploring the girl to follow and wrapped the girl in the urgency and desperation that had become her. Gently, the girl let her hand slip from her mother’s grip and let the shimmer wrap around her, cloaking her from the watchful eyes about. They went to a quiet hill with an ancient tree upon it, stretching its limbs to protect the whole hill. They sat under the tree as the shimmer told her story of her dreams disturbed and how she woke to find her place had become no place and of the others who once had a home and a place to rest and now had nowhere and were lost.

The voices of the party echoed across the area, frantic and imploring. They watched as they wandered around the area under the hill and sat silent, the great limbs of the tree hiding them from their seekers. The shimmer held tight to the girl, begging her to stay there so she would not be alone in this strange open place. The girl nodded and sobbed, for the shimmer’s sorrows as much as the fear of what the party would do to her once she was found.

As the party searched, the mists followed, circling the members of the group and wailing out at them. Their wails sparked fears in the party and they looked to the sky for the storm they believed to be approaching. The search grew more frantic and harried and the people darted in every direction, fear gripping at them like a stalker.

The mother came up around the back of the hill and that’s where she found them. The mists converged on her as she fell to her knees at what was before her and wept. The others came rushing and looked with horror with her at the jumbled wreckage of the discarded. It was like peering into a dragon’s cave. The remains were tossed in piles and strewn across the ground like discarded refuse. Remnants and shards dotted solitary areas. Eyeless holes peered out at them and skeletal hands reached out as if for help. They shouted and made calls and soon there were very many more. Many needed to untangle and make sense of the chaotic tangle of all these remains. Many needed to help piece each back together and make whole again, many to find answers and demand a reckoning.

A small lone form was the first to be put back in its place, gently lifted and given a new warm place to lie with soft cushions all around. As she was laid reverently onto the cushions, the young one with the laughter of a thousand bells and stars shining in her eyes, the girl felt the shimmer begin to release its grip and felt a gentle brush against her cheek. The shimmer settled in and once again dreamt and once again was divine.

Sephi'PiderWitch July 25, 2009

Arachnafelorpion

2009-07-25T08:08:00.001-07:00

Arachnafelorpion

The timid toy designer wrote a story in a broken elevator to confuse the investigator. She thought deeply on the memories of the beasties and creatures of fantasy, searching for the right one, the right combination that would make this work. Her bag of tricks was almost empty and it was only a matter of time before he figured out that the only place left to look for her was in the elevator and the door in front of her was as insubstantial as the air it was woven from. But, summoning a creature from story or mythlore was most dangerous. One need rely on the accuracy of the telling and hope that there did not exist an older, more dangerous version that might emerge in its stead.

His footsteps approached nearer and she stilled her breath and willed her heart to soften its beating. She could smell the rank staleness of him. There is nothing so vile as the scent of stolen dreams and magicks left to rot upon a trophy cord. Softly, she drew in her breath and wishpered a prayer to her spirits and released her substance to their will.

The news cameras caught the filming of him running from the building screaming higher than any bimbo in a B-rated horror flick. The camera men inched slowly towards the building hoping to get a glimpse of the cause. A daring reporter cautiously stuck his head in the door and looked around. There was nothing but empty halls and rooms that he could see. They moved in and began to scout around, becoming more baffled with each moment at the emptiness of the place. The offices were closed and all the doors were locked. The only open door was the elevator at the end of the main hall. The daring reporter that first entered the building approached cautiously and peered inside. It too, was empty. Laughing nervously, they began to file out of the building. It was unlikely the investigator would ever live this one down.

A soft twitter-giggle echoed gently through the elevator shaft. The toy maker was no longer so timid. Her spirits had served her well. She rather liked this new form. Seems they fashioned her out of some of her favorite creatures, the sleek sensual body of a cat, the legs of a spider complete with web spinning ability And oh look! She swished the venom barbed scorpion tale in front of her. This will do just fine! Now she supposed she needed to give herself a name. Hmmmmm???? A knowing smile spread across her face . . . . . Arachnafelorpion! Desolinia giggled again and began to draw herself further up the shaft by her silken thread. It was a bright sunny day out. She figured she had earned the right to enjoy some of it.

Sephi'PiderWitch 2009

The Promise

2009-06-25T15:15:00.000-07:00

The Promise

They arrived late in the night, at a time when even the moon had wearied of casting a glow. They knocked sharply at the back door, their feet making rough scraping sounds in the dirt and gravel outside. She opened the door quietly and they handed her the coarse-hewn wooden box without ceremony. She took it with trembling hands and set it down just inside the door, closing them outside without a word of farewell. Her knees began to buckle under her and she slipped to the ground, a weight descending all around her like a leaden cloak. She wrapped her arms about the box and the tears flowed, swiftly moving to wracking sobs that convulsed through her body. She slowly pulled herself up and forced herself to breath in some calm and will herself to open the box and pay witness to what lay there.

The shreds of what was once a dress met her fingers first. She remembered this dress, remembered the time she had stitched it together so many years ago. Its color now faded and stained, its form beaten and shredded, in pieces many too small to even yield a proper cleaning rag. Within the folds of the fabric, a couple of articles of jewelry met her fingertips. A ring that had been in the family for as long as could be remembered. She closed her hand about it and summoned the image of the first time she had seen this ring, on her grandmother’s hand when she was but a small child. How it had sparkled in the sun, dazzling her eyes and drawing her close to her grandmother’s sleeping side. And when she saw that the ring had slipped from her grandmother’s hand in her passing and onto her mother’s, she began to yearn that one day it might pass to her. She remembered the anger she felt the day it finally slipped from her mother’s hand and was not hers. She covered her face with her hands, the ring making a deep indent in her forehead from how hard she pressed it against her skin as she cried. It was hers now, with a passing as weighty as the loss.

She picked up the other item, a simple gold cross on a leather cord. She remembered the day it was hung around her neck, in front of the whole town. She remembered her form laid out in her long white gown, her arms outstretched and it felt as if she would never move. She had become a bride that day, a bride with no husband who would keep her bed warm at night or plant in her children to love. But, she glowed when she turned to look at them after rising and the cross was placed about her neck. Her mother had let the ring slip from her hand that day and given it to her even though it was against the rules and unlike what the others wore. But they allowed her it, or at least chose not to say nay. Both of these tokens, she pocketed to later put in her treasure box.

Gently, she lifted the shreds of the dress from the box and buried her face in them, breathing in her smell, her fears, her courage, her memory. Then slowly, she set it down at her side, tucking stray edges and softly patting it down.

She looked again into the box. There was a smaller box in the corner and she lifted it out. A deep wash of fear hit her as she held it before her. She didn’t want to learn what was inside, but she had made a promise and a promise must be kept. So, she took a deep breath and lifted the top. A bloodied kerchief lay folded inside. She touched the edges with shaking fingers, parting it open. A small nest of scorched human hair lay within. The sobs began again and she dropped the box, sending its contents tumbling into the larger box. Underneath, as the last of the contents fell, a small pile of papers cascaded down. She gasped softly as she recognized the hand that had penned the writing on them. Carefully she gathered them up and looked at them and knew the entire tale was there. She folded them gently and placed them in her waistband and closed everything else back in the box.

Tomorrow, she would give the remains the burial they had refused her. Tomorrow, she would be ready to speak what must be said.

She pulled herself wearily to her feet and headed to her room. Tonight though, she must read the rest of the tale.

Sephi'PiderWitch 2009

Eulogy

2009-06-14T19:31:00.001-07:00

Eulogy

It is a sad and bleak day that brings me here to pay my farewells and put to its final rest my companion and helpmate of these many years.

Before you, the greatest have knelt and bowed their heads. In your sharper moments, you showed compassion and dealt your blows with swiftness and mercy. Never did you hesitate to strike with precision those that had been condemned before you. And even in your later years, when age had worn your edges and dulled your gleam, still you did not falter in administering your duty.

A lifetime you have stood at my side. A lifetime I have wrapped my hands about your smooth handle and lifted you above my head. A lifetime you have found your mark to the screams and applause of the crowds. A lifetime of lives sacrificed to your blade. A lifetime till one life too many and the steel cracked and split you, severing you from your handle as surely as you had severed the heads of the lives laid before you.

The time of your kind is done, they say. It is a new age with a new way.

The ceremony is gone and the crowds have been sent home. The condemned now die without fanfare. No screams and cries to send them to their forever land. Tis good that you did not survive to see this day.

My hood and robes packed away. I shall follow you soon enough, my friend. I look for the day that we shall be reunited in the great beyond, your blade forged anew and crowdscheering us again. Till then, rest my friend.

Sephi'PiderWitch 2009

Oh Look!

2009-06-14T18:13:00.000-07:00

Oh Look!

Oh look! Yes you! Come here! Just a quick peek beyond the curtain and the world will never be the same again. Come closer! Just one more wee step. Here, let me help you. I’ll part the veil just the slightest bit. Oh look! Can you glimpse what is beyond? Just one step closer and more shall be revealed. You do want to see more, don’t you? Oh look! That flash of a

unicorn galloping past! Did you see her? Like a flash of starlight streaking across the land. And there. Right over there! A field of fairies at play. Aren’t they just lovely to behold? More to see there is if you but move a bit closer. Oh look! A Phoenix bursting into the air from the flames! His colours so bright they almost make your eyes ache. Watch as he soars up into the heavens, his magnificent tail trailing ribbons of flames behind him. Wasn’t that just glorious? There is so much more to see, but you are still too far away. Won’t you come just a little closer? Oh look! Off in the corner, did you see the galaxies collide? Watch as their remains cascade across the heavens and look deeply into the blackness of the void they leave behind. There are universes beyond imagination just past this curtain. Would you miss a moment of it? I see you still hesitate. Come now, you are almost there. Oh look! A griffin making off with a beaste of the fields, a dragon rending its prey. Spirits and demons and fantastickal creatures to inspire and terrify your soul! Oh no! Don’t step back! They are but dreams and cannot hurt you! Come back! Oh look again! Beauty beyond compare! Lands of swirling colors, blooms of intoxicating scent! See? There is no need to fear! That’s it! Come closer. Oh look! A beauty that fantasies are envious of! Her skin so perfect, her face so fair. Her eyes look on you with the desires of lifetimes of searching. Look how she reaches to you! Can you resist her look and the chance to touch her hand? Oh look! She is calling you, drawing you, imploring you. Can you still refuse? Oh good! Go with her. How does it feel within? What?! You say she has talons and smells of death? She has pierced your flesh and is chaining you! What? You are afraid? You feel pain? You feel darkness closing in? You have changed your mind and want to leave now?

No need to worry, it shall pass.

Psst!! You over there! Come here!

Oh look! Just a quick peek beyond the curtain and the world will never be the same again . . . . . . . . .

Sephi'PiderWitch 2009

Worst Day

2009-06-14T18:07:00.000-07:00

Worst Day

I so glad to be home Teddy! I had the most awfulest day I has ever had! Remember how mommy and daddy had me get all dressed up in them new spiffy clothes they boughted me? I was all happy and cited cuz I thoughted they were going to take me to somewhere fun and special. Well, we got in the car and they put them straps on me so as I wouldn’t fall off the seat, like I really that dumb that I would fall of the seat. Anyway, we starts driving and driving and driving and I looking out the window at everything going past and finding the slug bugs and naner cars and making funny faces and waving at the people when we comes alongside them. And it seems like we were driving for hours and hours.

Then, daddy pulled off the main road and onto this dirt road and we went bumpity bump along it and he kept turning the car this way and that and every time he did I started falling in that direction. Lucky for me I had those straps on or I migha fallen off the seat! And I am looking out the window and there nothing but trees all around us. All the houses is gone. And I am thinking we is lost and start to get scared. What if we can’t find our way back home again? I started to cry a bit but mommy made that shushie noise that makes the tears stop afore they fall out.

After we been driving bumpity bump for a whiles, daddy makes a sharp turn and almost makes me fall out of the straps I pulls so hard. Then we is driving on the grass and there is lots lots of cars parked way out there. There is also this really big tent over past all them cars. I start getting all excited again cuz I start thinking maybe we going to see the circus and all the animals and clowns and magic people. Daddy stops the car by all the other cars and I can’t wait for mommy to let me loose from the straps so I can go see inside that tent! But, when she lets me go, she takes my hand real strong so I can’t get away and makes me stay right next to her. I tried and tried to pull away and then she got mad at me and told me to stay still. Well, I know better than to fuss when she sound like that. If I don’t, I know I could get a whupping and I try not to get those.

After a few minutes, we start walking to the tent, mommy never letting go of my hand and making me stay right next to her. We go inside and it is full of people and it is all a hush and quiet. There is all these fold up chairs all over in rows that people are sitting on and they pull me to a row where there are empty seats and tell me to sit between them. I can tells I had better be real good cuz they put me between them. They only do that so either one can pokes me if I act up.

Pretty soon a whole group of people come in all dressed in pretty dresses, even the men. They all line up at the front of the tent and one of them sits down at the piano and begins to play some music. Then they all start up singing. Its real lively music and all bout Jesus and God and angels and sins and such. Everybody else starts to join in and sing along and stand up and begin to dance as well to the music. Then some of the women begin singing real loud and waving their arms around in the air. The people around them start to move away, and I don’t blame them, I would move away too cuz I would be afraid of getting hit by them. Then it got really strange cuz they started yelling in some other language and I couldn’t understand them. A couple of them started to cry really hard which made me real scared cuz it made me wonder if there were ghosts in here and going to come after me next. Then a couple of them started swaying and fell on the ground and acting like my friend’s dog that ate the rat poison.

I started crying real hard then and told my mommy I wanted to go home. She just put her arm around me and was telling me everything was ok. I was still scared and crying and tried to crawl in her lap to hide my face, but daddy got real angry and told me to sit back down and stop my nonsense. I didn’t understand why it was nonsense to be afraid when people are crying and falling on the ground and making like they are poisoned. But, I quieted myself as best I could and tried to make my mind think of other things like being back home in my bed where it was safe so I could distract myself some.

Then this man walks in dressed in this shiny suit and wearing a big black hat. He walked real slow like up to the front of the tent and tap-tapped on the microphone which made a loud screechy noise after it thump-thumped. Then he started to speak real softly and I could almost not hear what he was saying. I thought maybe they didn’t have that microphone turned up high enough, but then he got louder and louder. He was talking bout God and Jesus and how we was all sinners and should all be ashamed of ourselves and the way we lived. Then he was saying that if we didn’t change our ways, we was going to be thrown into this lake of fire and we would be there forever and ever. I began to cry again and mommy tried to shush me again. I didn’t want to burn up in a lake and be there forever. I couldn’t think of anything I had done that would make me deserve such a punishment, not even when I tied Missy’s braids together or even stealing the piece of candy from the store. And those were the worst things I could remember doing. But, he said we was all going to get thrown there.

And then he started saying we could make it all better by coming up and letting him save us. People started filing out and following him out of the tent to the stream that was just behind the tent. Momma and daddy took my hand and made me follow them out there as well. Then the man walked into the water and started calling for people to come join him in the stream. And that water looked so dirty, I couldn’t believe anyone would go near it. But, they started walking down and right into the water with him. Then he would put his arm around their shoulder and slapped their forehead and pushed them splash under the water and held them there for a bit. When he let them back up, they were sputtering water all over and he told them they were saved and all their sins had been washed away.

I started to realize that mommy and daddy were leading me to the water with them and I started to cry again saying I didn’t want to get pushed down under the water. They knew I didn’t know how to swim and I was afraid of the water. But, they held my hand tight and wouldn’t let me go. I tried really hard to pull my hand away, but they wouldn’t let go and they just ignored me no matter how loud I screamed and cried.

We finally got to the water and they lifted me by my arms between them and walked out till we was in front of that man. He told them to put me down, that the water wasn’t that deep, but it came all the way up to my chest! I was about to run away when daddy gave me one of those looks that meant I wouldn’t be sitting for a very long time if I tried, so I just stood there sobbing. Then the man did to me what he did to all the rest and he pushed my head down under the water and my feet slipped in the mud and I had water in my nose and mouth and eyes and I knew I was going to die and I wasn’t going to be saved like he said I was. I started kicking and slipping around on the mud under me. Then, I felt someone grab my arms and I was pulled up out of the water and saw it was daddy and he held me real tight. He carried me out of the water and set me on the shore and then I had to watch while that man did the same thing to him and mommy.

By the time they were done, I was shivering all over as it was kind of cold outside there. Mommy looked at me and said we had had enough for one day and we should go home. Daddy started to argue and she said no, we was going and that my lips were blue. That made me scared again, thinking maybe I was gonna die after all if my lips were blue. So, we got in the car and started driving back. Then I noticed a black slimy thing on my leg and started crying all over again. Mommy looked at it and made daddy pull over and when she pulled my clothes off, there were lots of them all over me. They began picking these things off me and they left big red marks where they had been and I got even scareder. After they were done, mommy wrapped me in a blanket and put me back in my seat. I think I fell asleep then, cuz I don’t remember nothing else till they put me on my bed and I woke up and saw you!

It really and truly was the worst day of my life Teddy! I’m so glad I am back home with you!

Sephi'PiderWitch 2009

Lavender

2009-03-08T08:49:00.000-07:00

Beaded Needle Holders

2009-03-05T16:37:00.000-08:00

So, I thought I would test out my new camera and upload my latest projects. One of these days I will take up an easy hobby. Yeah, I believe that!

Rose

2009-01-09T22:49:00.001-08:00

Belladonna

2009-01-09T22:37:00.000-08:00

More Snow is A'Fallin!

2008-12-21T08:00:00.000-08:00

Tis a Winter Wonderland around here now! Unfortunately, I am suffering still from a nasty cold and can't get out and enjoy it the way I would like to. But, hacking cough and all, I have gone and stomped around in it and lifted my face for snow kisses.

Friday was a most interesting day where Sephi had one of her shoulda stayed home in bed days. Went to store to get some things and braved the icy roads. When I loaded stuff into car, I slipped on the ice and fell on my butt (I don't bounce as good as I used to!). Then I got home and couldn't make it up the slick driveway and had to wait for the plow truck to dump sand to give me traction. I got the groceries unloaded and went to light a fire, and the flue wasn't open, so I set off the smoke alarm and when I ran to open it, I burned my finger on the handle. Sometimes I can be such a danger to myself. Karissa said "Awww, poor mommy!" while giggling when I told her the story.

We got more snow last night! I had to go out and get myself some tire cables as I cannot get up the drive to my apartment because of the slick roads. And thankfully a new friend up here was gracious enough to put them on the car for me. Though, I shall have to either figure out how to summon the hand strength to remove them when the ice & snow level melts a bit. Or find another well meaning soul to help me again.

And this one, I just had to take. Amazing how tightly the monster can ball himself up. And he so likes camping in front of the heater to try and suck all of the heat into his body. Such a male he is!

And this was just a pretty picture of the snow fallin at night in the complex. I am so loving the changes in seasons up here. But, I wish the onset of winter might have been a wee bit gentler on this transplant so that I could have had a chance to acclimate a bit better. And there will be more snowfalls before the winter is done and I will be well by then and can go play as I would like to now.

My First Snowfall!!!!

2008-12-14T11:07:00.000-08:00

Yay! We got out first snowfall of the year last night. And it mattered not that it was REALLY cold outside and I have had a nasty cold for days, just grabbed a blankie. Just had to go see the pretty fluffy stuff falling from the sky!

So Lance and I took a deep breath and venture out on the patio and looked at the blanket of snow on all the plants. And of course, he had to stick his face in the grasspot to lick the frosting!

Then we came back inside and rolled on the carpet together. Such a happy boofers!!!

And when I looked outside this morning, this was the view from my patio! Quite a change from the land of Summer and Not Summer!

And who needs a silly Christmas Tree when youhave this outside your window???

Of course, sometime today I do need to take a deep breath and start up the car and see if I can survive driving in it. And if I scare myself too much, I can always come back and have a small glass of Brandy to warm by bones and calm my nerves. But for the moment, I am just going to enjoy my Winter Wonderland!

2008-10-20T16:11:00.001-07:00

This is the sky outside my apartment today!!! Life is beautiful!!!

And for those of you who may not know what Autumn really looks like, check out the colors of my trees! The orange one on the left went from green to this luminous orange in a matter of a couple of days and the one on the right is turning almost a blood red.

2008-10-20T15:59:00.000-07:00

And at last, one picture of what I am doing in my bedroom. The young lady got me the drapes before I left California and they finally made it up. The very cool lantern in the center was a present from Peggy. I think it rather makes it even more mystical. So now, the mutant and I get to sleep behind the veil. *grin*

And my altar which I think is finally coming together.

2008-10-20T15:53:00.000-07:00

Just thought I would share some of the pumpkins from the pumpkin contest we had at work......

The gourd took first place. Pretty cool, huh? I don't think I have ever seen anyone carve a gourd before. And it also broke some tension between me and the guy who carved it because I was so impressed with it.

2008-08-31T19:58:00.000-07:00

Just had to add the clouds from tonight.

2008-08-31T18:01:00.001-07:00

And these are some of the skylines from my patio. Just in case there is any question why I love it up here.

2008-08-31T17:42:00.000-07:00

So, I have finally gotten my house in enough order to take some pictures of it. Had to move a bit on it since the young lady is bringing me the beast to watch till she gets a place of her own.

So, here goes:

This is the living room and yes, that is a window seat. I have a futon that separates, so I was able to put the end of it by the window for the window seat.

And this is my small patio. As you can see, I already have an array of plants on it. What would my home be without my plant friends??

And this is my kitchen and dining area. I know it all looks cluttered still, but I am still trying to find creative ways to get things placed. It will all look better in a couple of months.

Next, we move up to the loft. As you can see, I have almost recovered the library from the boxes. There are still a handful left, but I am working them up a couple at a time. And laying on my chair is the only "Pink Fluffy Thing" that Sephi owns. *snicker*

And this is looking down from the top of the stairs. And yes, that is a spiral staircase. Most cool! And a fireplace to keep my old bones warm in the wintertime. Life is good!

The bedroom is not included at this time as it is still a long way from being even close.

2008-06-28T10:06:00.000-07:00

These are pictures of the sky from the ferry on the trip we made to Whitby Island.

Ok, so I have often been accused of being delusional or taking my own private trips, but I swear there is a peace sign in the clouds.

Just never remember seeing clouds like this when I was down south.

And a pretty Thistle plant

2008-06-21T11:03:00.001-07:00

I decided to give myself a treat on the next leg of the journey and I stayed at the most adorable Bed and Breakfast for a night.

Of course, I wound up in the room that had the painting of a girl looking at a dead bird (sorry about the glare, but there really is a dead bird behind the glare).

They had 2 pet black swans at the manor. I was told that they came from Australia. I had to say when they complained to get out of their enclosure first thing in the morning, I learned that they are quite loud! But, they are most beautiful!

And this was the view from the patio!

And I must say that the breakfast they served me was one of the best breakfasts I have ever had!

2008-06-21T09:49:00.000-07:00

The next stop of course was to see the awesome young lady and to say goodbye to the mutant.

She made me go to this really, terribly, horribly bad comic show with her. But, we made the best of it anyway!

She's gotten cute, hasn't she? Don't tell her though, it might swell her head more than it already is.

I guess they have made up again and now I am petless for the first time in a couple of decades. *sigh*

2008-06-20T21:57:00.000-07:00

So, I thought I would try joining in on this silly thing and begin with my new life and some pictures of the start of my journey.

My first stop was with my friend Tina and this is what it looked like from her balcony.

Most lovely farmlands right outside her balcony and way off in the distance is the ocean!

We went the next day to see this really remarkable cemetery (ok, I do admit to this real love of cool old cemeteries) But, just look at these pictures and you will understand why it was so cool!!

They decorate these things with all sorts of ornaments, plant gardens on them, etc. They have literally made these really cool shrine/homes for their departed friends and loved ones.

This was a most unusual one! The Madonna here is on a black crescent moon. So far, I haven't found anyone that can explain what this signifies.