lugh was a coppery stallion. fianor, in her royal blue velveteen cape, rode him with skill. she had with her a couple of bags full of essentials: a few dresses, some sandals, a thick journal, pencils for sketching and a fountain pen for writing. she always carried scissors, candles, toiletries and supplies for binding her thick, long, chestnut hair. she had a sleeping bag, a small tent, enough food for the journey and a few mementos from home. and of course she had gifts for henzel and galanderin. they always appreciated seeds, beads and books.
the journey would take at least a week. starting from the valley and making her way through the foothills and canyons to mount owlish was always risky. there were bands of rebel outlaws who since the great shutdown liked to prey on anyone and anything. they had lost their houses, their pick-up trucks, their televisions.
notes from my twilight realm
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
to plumb the depths
she was waiting for his arrival. she knew how to watch by sitting with eyes unfocused. in the swells of day that are summer, sound is part of the view. she would hear the pock of stones in the unsettled drive. then an engine would roar around the yew.
birdsong would return once the ignition was switched. footsteps would echo on wood. "feanor?" he might call through the peeling screen. at her request he had come.
she opened the door and greeted him with a resplendent grin. he tipped his hat and clutched his tools. she lead him to the plugged up bathtub.
ripples and steam. her worn out skeleton padded by flesh. heat transporting her. thimble of water as she bent and stretched. blurring of all definitive lines. light reflected in a bead of dew. cats on the ledge, eyes dark and wide and cloaked in awe. her shimmering under. the lost feeling of slender grace. a delicious width. her soft limbs draped in sequins.
it always began as an exercise in relaxation. the water filled her and then she was emptied. her breath was renewed as she slipped into heat. her limbs went limp and her lids were drawn. scenes from the day played before her. and there was color and music. her very own. it always began as an exercise in relaxation and it always ended in epiphany. this evening she decided it was time finally to accept henzel's invitation. in two days she would begin the journey to trillium falls.
birdsong would return once the ignition was switched. footsteps would echo on wood. "feanor?" he might call through the peeling screen. at her request he had come.
she opened the door and greeted him with a resplendent grin. he tipped his hat and clutched his tools. she lead him to the plugged up bathtub.
ripples and steam. her worn out skeleton padded by flesh. heat transporting her. thimble of water as she bent and stretched. blurring of all definitive lines. light reflected in a bead of dew. cats on the ledge, eyes dark and wide and cloaked in awe. her shimmering under. the lost feeling of slender grace. a delicious width. her soft limbs draped in sequins.
it always began as an exercise in relaxation. the water filled her and then she was emptied. her breath was renewed as she slipped into heat. her limbs went limp and her lids were drawn. scenes from the day played before her. and there was color and music. her very own. it always began as an exercise in relaxation and it always ended in epiphany. this evening she decided it was time finally to accept henzel's invitation. in two days she would begin the journey to trillium falls.
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