Early Town, the Carnival Lady and An Attic of Secrets
The days set slow in Early Town where shadows arrange in mysterious shapes under hazy trees of late summer.
I walk along a dry path; a dusting of cinnamon shimmer rises and settles in a traveling breeze across the field of milkweed and yarrow.
The path I travel finds its place along Gum Creek Cemetery and the house of the old carnival lady.
Time seems limpid and very still at the old wooden house. Her treasures are all within…the carnival stories told over again on porch swings during hot summer nights, only when children are dreaming. The tarnished charms, intimate letters wrapped in faded ribbon and dried lavender, dead flowers from a long ago lover, carnival posters, moth eaten lace dress slips and secrets….
These things live high in her house among the attic walls.
On moon bright midnights, broken shards of attic window glass shine on wood board floor, like geometric shaped jewels from a strange faraway place.
When the storms come dressed with the “whistling winds “as the old lady calls them, they will rattle the carnival parchment posters from yesteryear.
This sound reminds me of the frantic dying moth stuck inside a small wooden box.
I smile and ask her for a story that was new once, long moments ago.
She speaks to me “The secrets are not for sharing, they are for finding.”
We share…only yarrow tea and moments of silence….
One autumn afternoon, when the yarrow is long and milky white in the field, illumined by a hot sun, I will return to the path past Gum Creek Cemetery, all shadows and silent wildflowers…and settle upon the vine covered porch of the old carnival woman’s house.
An old envelope, showing signs of dust and time I find as I enter through the door, upon the first step of the stairs. Small and neat are the words “For You My Child, Seeker of Secrets” and inside was a clean paper and pen with a small note attached at the top…
“We are receivers of this presence, we are like secrets finding, unfolding unto the light.
The manifested thought is our creation alone. Guide it; nurture it from a place of true wonderment…