It seemed like time had grown weary of counting the moments for us. The out-of-sync tics, sound lost within a vacuum of time, upon our deafening silent town; that forgot how to listen.
Milkweed and Cottonwood seed are suspended upon the aether; a floating drift, glowing like snow in the late afternoon sun.
My bare feet touch the cool, dirt path through the old canopy of ash and elm trees that loom over the dank ravine. Leading me out and away from our forgotten, Southern town.
I wear a gift, my Mother Dabria, left for me; a long moss green dress; it trails behind me stirring the dry leaves, like cracking whispers.
I have worn this path down through the seasons; so many moments gathered, like the wild plants and flowers for my remedies; the careful placing of memories stored tight and gently pressed, the way one puts precious things in a box.
I see crows gathering in numbers, like a secret coven, flying in swift over the rustling corn stalks; in the fields upon the path’s end.
I step out from the forested path, as I gaze out beyond the shadows before me. The silver light of dusk, shimmers upon the air making the abandoned, clapboard house seem like a distant mirage. Blurred and dreamy, like a child’s watercolor painting.
I have been coming here since I was a child. My Daddy hunted on this land, like his Father Rainer before him. My Grandmother, Orenda Rose, taught me the ways of healing potions and elixirs. Teaching me how to collect and dry, in their seasons Yarrow, Wolf bane, Samphire, Queen Anne’s Lace, Blackthorn, Gentian and so many roots and berries.
We would hang the thickets on black chain, iron hooks to gently sway with the autumn breeze in the dry cellar with fat jars of minced meat and bottles of apple shine.
I am here alone; only these memories fill the space where the silent moments dwell; or so I thought…
From the writing ~ ‘The Watcher in the House of Mirrored Reflections’, (c) 2020 Duskflyer Vision Art and Productions, Tommie Flannery Baskis