~  I live with my Father, Magnus. Like his Father before him, he is a miner, woodsman, master hunter and my protector; always watching but has a suffering allowance for my independent and curious nature.

Father, lighting his pipe, sits with me on our large, southern wood porch every evening I can recall, since I was a girl child. His stories weave a magic spell; lucid, hypnotic and sensual are his words that speak of the ancient gifts shared by the light and dark beings.

He speaks of the love he has for my departed Mother. Her name meant something to him I will never know deeply nor could I speak of with the finest words. I knew her as Aislinn.

He called her, Angell.

I wear her dresses she made by hand, now. My favorite is the antique white slip she kept in her cedar box, wrapped in a satchel of cinnamon and coriander.

Magnus, after slowly exhaling the dark scented pipe smoke, tells me “daughter, you walk in the light of your passing Mother; you favor her in the good ways I can’t be for you. Lucinda, you will find your way just fine, girl. Gentleman Caedmon sees you running tall in his fields, choosing the ripest herbs and plants for your mixing’s. He has a mighty strong fondness for you child. He might come callin’ soon for you.”

I just stare dreamy into the dusk, listening to the deep sound of Magnus and the vibrational drone of the cicada; feeling a sweet desire for the way Jupiter touches me, not the kind of ‘touchin’ you can tell Magnus about.

Do we keep some of the sweetest things, hidden in a dark place for fear of losing the rich memory of intimacy; or are we just afraid?  ~

 

Excerpt from my Story ~ (c.) 2018

(The moments that align) ‘Lucinda Mae, Jupiter and a Pig Named Pearl in Dusty Spirit Springs’

 

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