Sunday, September 17, 2006

Just Grand 2

the continuation of the story below

..............................................................................

Bye ‘n bye he starts in askin’ questions. “Yer leanin’ agin a roof post – tell me ‘bout it – what makes it special?” “On the path up ya heard the tinklin’ song of a waterfall – what did it say to ya?” “In a bit of a glade behind the house some of my kin are buried – how many, ‘n how as they died?” and more … Some answers came easy as I was mountain born and kin ta the forest – leastwise always thought so. Never bathed ‘cept in a stream ‘re rain barrel. Always et some gift of the meadow every day: berries, wild onions, nettle root, ‘re cress – just like mom dun tol’ me. Never kilt nuthin’ I didn’t plan ta eat and could tickle trout …

Tellin’ of things I’d never seen was different, but I spoke right out. On my first try I was jest faerie guessin’ and Grandie called me up right quick. “Be startin’ with what ya know fer sure. Then ‘low yerself to be in my shoes and look fer the balance of things – knowin’ what be right fer peace and utility.” He never told me if’n I be right or no, but I began to sense a kinda glow ‘bout him when I ventured some ‘extension’ – leastwise that’s what Grandie called em. As I be readin’ these as indicators of true er close guessin’, I began to describe things small first ‘stead o’ tryin’ to grasp the whole imagine. When I sensed the glow – better with my eyes closed – I built on that. When his “truth reflectin’” sang low ‘re quiet, I tried agin with no fear atall. Thirsty work, though – cider mostly gone. Grandie’s jug was down ta dribble too.

“I talk better walkin’,” he mumbled while creakin’ outa that rockin’ chair. We drifted gentle through the woods, pacin’ some old trails and discoverin’ new – passed a mossy busted still and ‘nother cabin burnt down. He told me stories ‘bout these ‘n other glimpses of past folk gone long. Some were not fer believin’ but fer makin’ a point. Others seemed to have no meanin’ atall but ta be anchors like fer other mem’ries and musin’. All the while he was a movin’ his hands and shiftin’ his feet peculiar like ‘til I caught on. His body kinda moved ahead of what he was sayin’, pointin’ where his thoughts were goin’, and whether he was plannin’ to feed me some dream tea. Then we came upon this broken bridge never fixed, as a log fall now served fer one ‘n carts never came by no mo’. Ole Grandie wandered around a bit, but din’t say nuthin’. My turn.

I started in tellin’ a story ‘bou why the bridge had been built, and by what folk, and how it came to be broke up, ‘n the tragedy of the place and what lessons were to be learned. I took clues from where he had stood, ‘n how his hands twitched while a ‘memberin’ how it had been. When I didn’t get any glow clues I talked about little things I saw – knew to be true like a patch of wild flowers ‘re the way a tree had been chopped – ‘til I found a bit of truth to grow on – then I storied what I thought up seemed ta fit the flow o’ things. He didn’t say nuthin’ durin’ the tellin’, nor move from the stump ‘cept fer puffin’ on his pipe. Finally, I just kinda ran out a thinks ta tell.

“No body coulda saved her, you know. Twasn’t yer fault none.” You’d a thought me the old man and him but fourteen from the tellin’ it sok,90hcjk,90hcj. We chatted some there by the tumbly rocks with both of us aged somewhere in between – jest friend ta friend, ya know. I won’t tell ya where he picked up a new jug, or how I knew who had left it fer him. Ya already be quessin’ that this twisty walkin’ stick I use be the one he gifted me that day, ‘re that it took him twenty years to carve it. ‘re that it was meant fer his son. It isn’t magickal to know such things.

All it takes is bein’ alive – and knowin’ that ya are, and learnin’ to listen to heart ‘n hands – and a watchin’ fer the soul glow.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Now, you don't have to be a 'seer' to know that I

wrote this story for Lorijayne, promted by her

divination (dousing) exploration. and I will make

a 'presentiment'.

You will practice your 'art' for fun and amazement,

but will feel self-conscious when doing it in front of others --

and your success rate will be sporatic. Then you will realize

that 'for others' is the whole point, and that your 'gift'

works best when done selflessly to help others. This you will do,

full knowing that the pain will balance the joy,

but will do it 'because you can and therefore must'.

May it always 'flow though' and caress your spirit

faucon the Gusari




0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home