W/B – Chaos crackled

The beam of golden light illuminated the front of the cottage. He saw it like a rising sun, casting deep shadows now over him and the wreckage. His pockets were full and his hands were numb. “Curse this coldness” he muttered, the snow continuing to fall. The light now snaked around the side of the building like a moving body, banishing the dark and the evil shadows. It crept closer and closer to him. He naturally began to edge backwards, as if a creeping hand of light was reaching for him, threatening to cast him into the open and explain himself. He backed up more and more before falling backwards into a huge snow drift. The cold condensed snow stung his face and he scrambled to be free, like a cat stuck in a bag. “Curse you and your snow!” he spat towards the house. He turned hastily then, and sped off into the woods. His pockets heaving and weighted down as if he carried gold, for the sapphire tears of the girl’s cocoon were heavy and clung to him like weights of guilt.

Ezra made his way quickly to the fire that still roared away in her little living room. Strong white and blue flames danced in the grate and he rubbed his hands hastily to warm himself. The girl watched him from the stairs, the small little boy in his pyjamas and his feet covered in snow.

“Next time, I’m wearing the coat before you freeze me back!” he grumbled. The lady hovered in the doorway smiling, the light from the flame in the jar dappled her face bringing forth a deeper warmth. Ezra concentrated on the warm fire. “So you’re what all the fuss is about huh?” he said, not looking away from the fire. Theatrically shivering away. She was surprised he’d seen her, but answered swiftly.

“I’m sorry for your coldness, I can help if you like.” She said, descending the little stairs and bringing forth a huge overcoat. Her skin shimmered in the light of the flames, and the closer she got it seemed to cascade away in huge chunks, repairing back like a tide of cells in different colours.

“Don’t go spoiling him now.” The lady said, going over quickly to the sideboard on the other side of the room. “A little cold never hurt anyone.”

“Thank you, glad someone has some manners.” He said, turning to her and taking the coat. He slipped it on and stuck out his hand. “I’m Ezra.” He said. She looked at his extended little hand curiously. He waved it a little impatiently.

“Nice to meet you Ezra.” She said, swooping down upon him and giving him a hug. This was unusual for both of them, but in the moment it seemed like the better thing to. Ezra was warmed further by her touch, and she was able to dive into his life in that short moment. She saw oceans of adventure and wonder, and little pools of sadness too.

“Well, you are the damsel after all. Even if you are much larger than usual. I suppose it befalls me to save you, and the old crone over there.” He said, stamping his feet now by the fire. The lady ignored him.

“Thank you.” The girl said, bowing humorously.

“My name is many things, but P’erl is one I wish for you to have.” The girl said, touching her heart with her forefingers and then touching his forehead. He smiled at this graceful and generous act.

“And you’ve come from the stars?” He asked. She nodded, smiling.

“Very well.” He said, as if used to the unexpected. “So what is all fuss?” He asked, turning to the lady, warmed now and eager to get started.

The lady of the jars was fumbling in the sideboard, reaching to the back of the cupboard now. She stuck her tongue out in an extended effort to stretch and reach into the very heart of the wooden beast.

“Well, we have to make our way to the Mondol stone. This is where the energy in this area pools and the magic is deep and expansive. You my dear will begin to change the closer we get,” she said, looking to the girl “layers will begin to lift, and meanings will come forth. You will evolve and reveal. Once there, I shall perform a rite of sorts, and if all goes to plan; what is meant to be will unleashed.”

“What do you mean, what’s meant to be? And that doesn’t sound too difficult, a quick trip in through the woods. Why do you need me?” Ezra argued, half-jokingly.

“Well, excuse me mister but I’ve never done this before you know.” He lady snapped, suddenly succeeding in her retrieval of a small box from the cupboard. “I’m not too sure what is to happen. I’ve only read about this in the book.”

“Well, that’s helpful.” He said. The girl laughed, she could see the ease the between the two of them. She didn’t know it then, but Ezra had once come from of the lady. A manifestation of a small part of her that she had conjured into being. The arguing, questioning side of her youth that was a source of strength and safety.

The Lady frowned.

“It will be some opening of portals and minds, a great wash over the land that will lift us all to new heights and banish that darkness. It will also bring forth her true purpose.” The lady said, peering now into the small box before putting into the bag she had over her shoulder.

“In other words, you haven’t got a clue, but it’s something to be getting on with.” Ezra said, walking over to the door where a row of boots and shoes stood. “Sounds like a wild goose chase to me.” He picked up the brown hiking boots and begun to put them on.

The lady ignored him and bustled about the room putting things into her bag. The girl followed Ezra and choose a pair of boots also. She hadn’t need for them, but if she was here to explore and try different things, she could start by wearing shoes for the first time.

“Dimian.” The lady suddenly said.

Ezra looked over to her.

“Not them again.” He said, his brow furrowing.

“And the gentleman of the boxes.” She added.

“That old goat, what’s he up to?” Ezra asked.

“And I hadn’t mentioned it earlier, but we are also going to have to hurry.”

“Hmmm, because two challenges weren’t enough. Why the haste?”

The lady stopped and looked at them by the door, dressed now and ready to leave.

“Because, in in two moons from now; I will have died”.

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White/Blue – Watchers In the woods

Watchers In the woods

The little cottage by the stream was a lovely thing to behold. It filled every notion of quaint and picturesque, and with the white snow whipping around it and settling on its old oak window sills and thatched roof, it may have seemed magic was its maker. But this was not the case. The lady of the jars put much time and effort keeping her little home pretty and practical. She tended the garden when she chose the spring seasons, and at the rear of the paddock she kept a giant domed greenhouse, full of orchids, dahlias, hibiscus and all manner of strange and unique plants. All kept under the huge dome which, now this she had bewitched, repelled the snow and kept the natural light shining in, bathing the plants with the life giving ultra violet rays.

Aesthetic wise, her house was all her own doing. But for the maintenance and security, the magic she knew dripped through every stone and brick. She was not against a bit of hard work, and she had known years of toil and trauma as much as the next person. She did use her magic to keep the house dust free (though she had some jars filled with dust that she tainted different colours, shaking them and watching the motes shimmer in the coloured light), and a little help with the laundry and such was merely a perk of knowing the inner workings of such deep and sacred magic. She also held spells and incantations over her little abode which kept it safe and secure; warding off bad spirits and deeds which promised to slither in with the shadows. But inside she was safe, and she knew it.

Outside, creeping around the back and down towards the stream, the gentleman of the boxes pushed through the huge snow drifts that had piled up by the hedgerow. He knew the place was safe for her, he knew he would have a battle on his hands if her were to challenge anything here against the lady of the jars. And he didn’t want to do that now, or perhaps anytime. A part of him knew something must be done, but for now his curious mind and eyes were searching the backyard for it. The place where she had landed. It had already been covered in so much snow that the scorched outline in the ground would be, to an average eye, hard to see. But with a magical twinkle that now twirled in his own lenses, he could see, even feel the place where heaven and earth collided.

He moved slowly, bending down every few steps to pick up a little piece. Digging his fingers into the white covering and extracting the soil, droplets of blue that permeated the thick black earth. They looked liked tiny sapphires speckled in the ground, the residue from the cocoon craft that had landed not long ago. He knew that only a grain of this would be precious to him, to fill only one of his little matchboxes would give him foresight and energy, to be able cancel out the retched snow and bring back the blaze of the summer sun. He collected what he could, searching for the large chunks of matter that sparkled abnormally in the dead snowy light. Too concerned about his diamonds in the dirt, he did not notice the others. The eyes that had appeared in the woods all around him. For it was not just the gentlemen of the jars who longed for the new gift from the stars, but others as well.

They watched him. His dominant gait slinking abnormally along the path towards the cottage. He moved like a shadow, whereas they moved like ghosts. Only noticeable if they wished to be seen. Spectres of the forest for now as they hid their figures and their intent. Woken from their slumber by the power dwelling now in the cottage by the stream, it had cracked open their hibernation and murmured within their DNA. They quickly gathered, shaking of the sleep of a thousand years and rattling like old bones in the clearing. Collecting themselves and moving on mass to the throb of the heart that was warming itself by the fire, sipping tea and eating blueberry tarts. They watched, their eyes translucent like the stream that ran behind the cottage, following the shadowed man collect the falling shards of space, pocketing them in the deep caverns of his coat. They watched, they whispered, then vanished into the ground.

“And it is your home, as long as you want it to be. I know you mean in the bigger picture, the bigger sphere of this planet, this space in time. But my home, my little life, its here for you if you need it. I want to help you, and I know why you must be here. Please, let me be the guide for you in this place.”. The lady of the jars said, her heart shifting inside.

“You know why I am here then?” The girl asked her.

“Yes, I know. It’s been foretold in a way. Well, I’ve read about it, and I feel it within me. I’ve been feeling it for a while now, something on the horizon about to appear. Like a dream where I reach out and grab something like a rainbow, beautiful, but untouchable.” She added.

“I understand. I would like for you to help, I know this might be hard for you though.”

“It is time I think. Locked away in my little cottage, doing good but not seeing the wider world. It is time for me I think. So let’s get started. You need some decent clothes, and I need my book.” She said, heaving herself up out of the seat, quickly snatching up a stray blueberry from the tin and throwing it into the air, catching it in her mouth. “Time waits for no Europan!”

…to be continued 


To read the full ongoing story, go here.

To go between the jars, visit this one.

 

35 degrees under ice

Broken and bleeding.
With sticks to keep my eyes open.
You left me, healing,
Asleep under winters duvet.
How scared was I when the nights rolled in.
Dark, and threatening, to never lift.
You said the tears would fix the wound.
The fox call, which entered the room.
Covering everything that was beginning to get cold.
You promised to make things better.
Nourish my leaf fell heart and welcome the spring of together.
Taking my hand to brace against the weather.
Which only heightened the storm inside me.
The tempest of old memories.
Old moments that lowered my pressure.
A winter’s flurry, to freeze the pain.
Hoping I could love again.

WHITE/BLUE

(for Naomi and Gina)


The lady of the jars

It was snowing. It always snowed. That’s how she liked it.

The swirling white that enveloped everything, dusting and smothering all in a wonderland. There was more variety in snow she’d always thought. A sunny day was nice, for a trip to the beach or a stroll in the park; but sunny days were predictable, ordinary, and what everyone wanted. Snow, on the other hand created such chaos and difference.

Her cottage was nestled right by the huge stream that swept through the core of the little village of Hamani. It was near enough for her to grab the things she needed from the stores and the like, but just far enough on the outskirts where she could find the solitude and quiet she relished. That’s not to say she was lonely. She was always visited upon by someone knocking on her door and trampling their life into her small little abode. Each day brought something her way, but she always had the choice of opening that small blue door of hers to see what awaited. Some days she would sit by the fire, listening to the rhythmic knocking on the door, picturing not the tired salesman trying to entice her to part with her coins; but instead the small wood pigeons or pheasants tapping their beaks on the wood.

She had been called many things in her time. She wasn’t old, though some days her bones seemed to be. She would bustle around her cottage with the spirit of a teenager, ignoring the small ache in her joints. The cold heightened it, but she would never admit that.

Witch had been thrown her way once. Princess too though, that had been even more painful to hear.

Most saw her as a wise woman with magic, but of the good kind that you knew you were safe to inquire about. She knew the flowers and the herbs, the healing nature of the world that surrounded her small little cottage by the stream with the wood overstretching its reach to her doorstep. People came with their children who would play in the snow and then toast themselves by the fire while their parents would acquire an ointment or potion to help with some pain. Sometimes the kids of the village would come to hear the stories she would tell over huge bubbling cups of hot chocolate. The towering piles of books that dotted her home loomed over all who came there. Hers was a place of possibilities, and it was called ‘Dustings’, and she was the ruler of her own little kingdom.

Though she was an honest soul, people had no idea of the true power that dwelt in her little home. They saw the plants and spices that filled every draw and nook. The witch hazel and birch that swirled in its hued state on the walls. Secrets gained from the botany books and fables that stuck out of drawers and were lodged under table legs. But they did not know, and they never would, of what she kept in her secret room.

It had always surprised her really. No enchantment had kept it hidden, and the noise and light that came from the tiny room at the back of her cottage was enough to entice even the most mildly curious pair of eyes. Yet secret it remained, an indication of the respect many had for her more than fear.

Locked by a tiny key she kept around her neck, the secret room was not large at all. More of a store room usually catering tinned foods or laundry detergent. But here, here is where she kept her jars. Luminous and terrifying, magical and mesmerising. The jars were small really, able to be held in the palm of your hand. Each one filled with light and motion. She bottled them you see, the weather systems. She kept all the aspects of elements, siphoned off into their purest from and bottled. Her own collection of small ships. How she had learned to do this, only she would ever know. But there they are, lined up next to each other on her shelves in her secret place. She would rotate them into seasons, or sometimes calamities. A good thunderstorm would go well with heavy wind and hail.

These bottles were most precious to her, and she never misused them. She was always mindful of the good she could do, and the darkness she would always be able to lighten. Most precious of all were the snow-scapes. The blizzards, and the flurries raging away in their little jars which had cooled to a frosted glass beauty there on the shelf. These she kept in their own section, away from the heatwaves and the monsoons. She would sometimes come and sit by these little vials and watch the dance of the nature there contained behind the glass. A snowglobe of the most literal sense. She wasn’t playing god with her treasures, she was only capturing the beauty of god.

These names the people had for her, she always smiled when she heard them muttered in hushed tones. But to herself, she was always the lady of the jars.


The Visitor

It was a strong blizzard that blew the snow and the ice that day. It blotted out the sunlight entirely, plunging the village in a darkening grey fog. No one left their house except for urgent business, and save for the howling wind, all was quiet. The lady of the jars was anxious, which explained the weather. She would sometimes open up a raging thunderstorm when the bad moods really took hold, but on the days when she was worried, the blizzards came to cover and dispel everything. The paradox of still and motion, certainty and doubt.

She had woken that day with a feeling. Something nibbling at her mind like a bird pecking at her finger. She had pottered about her cottage, finding things to do to occupy her brain. Changing the sheets, dusting the ornaments, cleaning the kitchen cupboards. All to subdue that fretful feeling inside. But her skull itched and her fingers twitched. Something was coming, she felt it in her bones. She knew the something was different, a thing that was to impact her life and change her course drastically. This, in part led to her anxiousness. Though unafraid of change, she worried she might lose her power to bottle the wonders that she had kept hidden and safe. This was the one loss she feared, the change that worried her. Her own priceless art gone.

She looked outside. The flurries had whipped up high on her window and she could barely see to the end of the small path which led to the dirt track towards the village. A lonely lamplight shone off in the distance, the one she knew marked the start of her path. It hummed and glowed pitifully in the blanketing white, like the heart of a huge beast teetering on the edge of eternal sleep. All of a sudden, a loud bang sounded above her cottage. It boomed in through her walls and knocked picture frames off the shelves. She let out a small yelp, and clutched her chest. She knew it was beginning there, on that at snowy day. At eleven o’clock in the morning. She knew, and she suddenly smiled.


Europa down

She pulled open her back door, the wind hurtling inside like an invisible hand knocking through. Though she had control over the weather, it wasn’t an on/off magic that tingled in her fingertips. She knew there was a time delay in which to shift into a new weather pattern. Making the unnatural reasonably natural. She hadn’t even gone to her small secret room to change the weather, her heart was hammering in excitement and she hadn’t bothered. Besides, the blizzard added to the drama that was unfolding in her backyard.

She stepped out into the cold and was suddenly covered with thick snowflakes. Her feet were cold, she had stepped out with only her slippers on, but the pull was hastening forward, caring not a button for the numbing that quickly came in her legs. She pulled her jumper up over her mouth and ploughed on through towards the thing she could see now. She noticed the remnants of stardust peppered across the sky above her. Something had landed and at the bottom of the garden. An asteroid, or could it be…… No, it was alive. Her blood told her that. It pulled and ebbed inside her seeking out the magic of life, seeking out the different.

She made her way forward, her eyelashes thick with snow and ice. He heart was pounding, it drummed in her ears against the wind.

Then suddenly, she was there. Standing over it. In shock for the sight before her eyes. Stardust splattered the snow around. Golden fragments coated the ground and the air, locked in a static tableau of exploding space. The gold drifted off into the air while the stained ground faded to a neon blue. The impact had made a small dent in the soil, like a giant ice-cream scoop and plunged into the earth. At the bottom, covered in stands of blue was what she knew it must be. The fallen. Some called them fallen stars, objects from the cosmos that littered the earth when they tumbled from heaven. She looked in closer, her mind suddenly skimming that book she kept safely locked in her cupboard along with her jars. Then she saw the blue tendrils stiffen, like neon roots tightening around their precious cargo. Bits of snow and dust seeped down in-between each one, melting into a liquid that oozed and formed around the body. Encasing it in a protective shell.

Europa, that was what this is. Her mind had summoned the right passage in her book, she saw it now clearly in the bright blue font that had burst off the page. That book which had come to her from her mother. The secret to her magic and light of heart. It had come before, once before long ago. All the way from another space.

The girl from Europa. Now in a small hole in the bottom of her garden. And she knew there, in the whistling silence that time was short, and things would always be different from here on out.

….to be continued

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WINTER DUST

(For Gina)

Words fall like the snow in the sky.
Each one unique, each one different.
Each one caught on my tongue.
Turning and melting in delicious fires.
This alabaster landscape calls to me.
Threatens to cause such havoc.
Yet stabilize my soul.
People drift to and fro.
Covered in dustings like the souls of Pompeii.
White, as the swan feathers that tickle my brain.
Forge deep into those drifts.
And slip away as the body numbs.
Falling into a winter dream.
Hoping to wake in the spring with all the beauty.
Released from mother natures warm comforting arm’s.

The Silence in snow

What died in the night to still this air?
Silent and frightening like falling through a cloud.
A stillness encases everything.
Do we mourn the moon which has slipped away?
Devoured once more by the rising sun.
Now hidden behind a fog of flurries.
I move not, and the earth respectfully follows.
The world turned down as the blanket of white covers us.
The silence of the snow.
A familiar guest in our winter play, yet never guaranteed to come.
To visit and lay down its coat.
I catch the snowflakes, as I long to be caught.
Laid down in warm soft hands and gazed upon in awe.
My heart trips to a beat, the only sound I can hear.
No bird or animal quiver.
Blinded and stunned by the white light.
Closer to the light, I return.
Scarred like the sky that wept the whiteness.
And echoes a silence still.

Insipid

The world is bored with the grey on your eyelids.
Floating down to cover us in an avalanche of despair.
Those tearing blacks that rip through your eyes when they shut.
Filling your soul in the soup of soured dreams.
Stewed and stuffed in our age of apathy.
It grows weary.
It spins and turns over, melting the poles and freezing the pacific to see where the birds will fly to at winter.
Or if they fly at all.
Dizzied and covered in the flakes of sorrow you proffer.
Give us the rains. Ones to wash away the rainbow hue of a dream that never flew.
Take it from us like an ice cream from a child.
This notion of static. The none moving motion you freeze yourself in.
Cracked like the world’s crust, oozing like the yoke of birth.
Seal your eyelids with the starry saliva of the angels.
Who whisper times of change as they lick at your ear.

Spectator to the storm

That storm inside rises.
Growing high like the heat of the dead.
A multitude of atoms, releasing their own chaos.
Chasing tails and stolen sunbeams.
Within this languished heart a quell resides.
But it will not come.
The dam will not break to let you in again.
Causing such consequence.
Your holy war against all but which you call divine.
Once awed breath, that now freezes on my hearts windowpane.
A forgotten wisdom, lost in the jungle of your mind.
So travel, not under my door, but down the valley.
Into the sweet flowers of spring.
That turn your repetitious gales into a gentle breeze.
That tickle the hairs on the back on my hand.

Too cold for snow

Caught in the teardrop, that’s trapped in time.
Shivering into something unfamiliar.
These bite marks plague me still.
Itching my skin like memories.
If you just let me go.
Watch me walk into that dying star.
Into the fire.
So encased in fear. This icy realm of apathy.
Too hurt to start again.
Too tired of being tired.
Looking at the grey sky in your eyes as you whisper.
It’s too cold for snow.

White out

Counting September’s smile.
Through the cracks in her teeth.
The gaps in the earth that let me in.
Bark stripped and predicted.
Rushing memories through me like electrolytes.
Treading sacred steps though time
Within the cells of mother earth.
Help me to the surface, to gulp the air of immortality.
For I choose the waters that I’m in.
Bringing down the reign.
Throwing flowers at the seasons, hoping they stick.
Waiting for winter’s incumbent snow.
Lodged forever in this tender heart.
White out. Breathe.

Polar warming

You cannot put out this fire, the dreams ignite every night.
Laying here, disappearing into you and loosing myself.
I came from the north, closer to the stars.
Falling down and free to where you find me.
Out of climate, out of touch.
The desire is making a fool of me as I watch the world spin by in a trance like blur.
Put your gun on the table, let us watch the northern lights.
Kiss me quick then blow my mind.
Throw your ice cubes in the sea and save me.
I’m not like the others, this is something you must understand.
I’m everything you’ve ever needed, and everything you’ve never wanted.