A silver light,
A glimmer on
A place of dream
A hope for
A silver light,
A glimmer on
A place of dream
A hope for
Of the world
And the margins
To the endless
[For Kathryn: you became light eight years ago today. We all loved you. We all love you more.]
They left the corner light on at night.
The stone path had been there before they bought the property, and the remains of a lantern post. It was right where they’d wanted a vegetable garden, and so at first the plan was to plow the area clear and remove the slabs and pebbles.
But then the hoe broke.
And then the belt on the mower.
And then there was the matter of their daughter’s bellowing every time they tried to work on that part of the yard.
She was barely two at the time. Not quite talking. And yet she managed to throw “No! No!” tantrums and pull at their clothing and plop herself in utter-toddler-dejection right onto where they aimed to work.
“You best give up,” their neighbor nodded her warty chin, sage eyes not unkind in understanding.
It was the Fair Ones, she explained. They had their own paths. Their own energy highways.
“The ancients had marked it. To hold space and to deter the mischief. It is easier. And the young ones can still see.”
They left the light on.
Repaired the path.
Moved the vegetable garden.
Life was better calm.
In the light.
For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: cat
She was Ethera, and she came at the peak of the longest night, on the cusp of the broadening daylight.
She was Ethera. A human. A spirit. A soul. Sometimes one. Often all.
She’d lived among them, flesh and blood and hope and heartache. She’d hungered and shivered and grew and raised and danced and cried and plowed. There had been nothing in her that foretold what she’d become once she passed the veil to the realm of Nether. Where summer did not come and winter did not grip the land and where the prayers of people held substance, unlike bodies, which did not.
She was Ethera. Unseen by most. Perceived by some. Hoped for by many. Feared by almost everyone.
Feared though she’d rarely brought on harm that wasn’t already in the making. Feared though she heralded truth, which for a reason she hadn’t been able to fathom, so many fought against.
She passed like air. Like wind. Like the willow whispering a breeze into one’s ear come silent night.
She was Ethera. And she came bearing gifts: Of scented fields. Of sunlit glens. Of fruit blushing ripe atop the trees. Of roots awaiting the fattening of rain. Of undulating earthworms sliding through the layers of the dirt to aerate the unseen.
As she could, too, pass between the layers of being.
She was Ethera. Some thought her fog. Some thought her ghost. Some knew her as the mist that rose to hold the moments yet to come and the droplets of the feelings those would bring.
She came at the deepest hollow of the longest night, and in her palms she held a bowl of alms, collected by the people’s dreams to appease the frost and sing the morning in.
Till time alights
To set things right
May last year’s light
Fill this year’s nights.
There was light
In the cold.
I recall spring’s
Glow of soft
For the Lens-Artists challenge: Cold
In twilight we live.
In twilight we love.
In edges of morning
What we hoped
We could master
As we have
Let the sun
Roll itself into
Rise the moon
To the dreams
We sleep of.
After weeks of gray and thistles and ceaseless wind that scraped her raw, there was light.
She could scarcely believe it at first.
The cloud cover had been so complete for so long that she’d began wondering if there was even a real sun still behind it. The revolutions of soupy daylight and inky nights felt equally murky as every step became oppressive. She had waking dreams of being lost inside a massive warehouse, a mouse in a maze, endlessly seeking an exit yet seeing none.
She wondered whether there was still use in trying. She was oh so tired.
Now there was a break. The sky spawned a cavity and the leaden heavens began to dissipate. She could discern a layer of ease in the distance.
And light, streaming like caressing fingers ahead. Showing the way home.
Note: Dedicated to the all-too-many who are staggering through their personal wilderness, caught in the molasses of gloom, and thinking of giving up — keep on, hold on. There’s light ahead, and we’re leaving it on for you.
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