Cherry Blossom Time

 

❄🤍❄

            It wasn’t really spring yet.  There was still some snow frozen to the branches of the big fir trees. But the days were lightening up. Among the white clouds peeking down from the canopy were winks of brilliant Northwest Blue™.
            Ramona never let the fire go out, because a fire is a very fine thing and really brightens up a day or a night, whatever the season. It’s a bit of a mystery to we hairless, relatively, how the Forest People get on in the cold and wet. There are theories. Ralph never really told Millicent and Ramona didn’t try to tell Nikky Rosen either. It’s one of those things we can indulge in conjecture about. It does seem to have to do with something rather more than haircoats.
            Nevertheless, the fire burned all day and deep into the night. Ralph spent the time when he wasn’t hunting, bringing in firewood.  This had the effect of keeping the great forest tidy. He harvested the deadfall and small trees that didn’t seem to have a future with the MtBSNF. He also collected river driftwood.

            Maybe they absorb the heat and store it somehow. Well, that’s just another theory.
            It was breakfast time. Twigg and the cats were sitting on the ground very near the fire eating something you might call Handcakes. Ralph was still sleepy, but he was there, soaking up the heat maybe.
            Ramona was taking a break, drinking something hot out of one of Ooog’s pottery mugs. She was sitting by Ralph and to tell the truth she was sleepy too. Her head dropped down onto his shoulder.
            Notice anyone missing? Neither did anyone else, as it happens. The one no one was attending to right then, had been extending her weightless escapades just recently. So while the landlubbers sat around the fire, she was practicing a sort of twirling in the current of hot air from the fire.  No one was looking. She went further upward. She could hardly feel her mother’s gravitational pull up where she bobbed, looking like a mass of pale blossoms of some kind.
            Just then an impertinent little wind came prowling near the ground, discovered the fire, and threw itself upward, catching Cherry in the updraft of hot air and wind together. Soon Cherry was a hundred feet in the air, then a hundred and fifty.
            She grabbed a snowy branch. The wind deserted her ascent, and there she clung. Cherry was afraid. She began to cry just as loudly as she could, like any sensible child stranded in the branches of a fir tree at great height most likely would.
            Ramona woke instantly, looking around wildly. She jumped to her feet and yelled, “Ralph! Where is she?” She heard the cries, but didn't realize they came from overhead.
            Ralph woke up. He actually ran around looking all over but did not look up.
            Berry and Bob did look up.  They meowed and growled and nudged Twigg until he looked up also.
            Well, there was Cherry most of the way up a tremendously tall fir. She kind of blended in with the snow.
            “Mommy, look up there,” said Twigg to his mother. “Cherry went up in the tree!”
            “Ralph, look up there,” said Ramona to Ralph. They all looked up there. “Ralph, she’s afraid to float down!”
            Cherry hung on tight and yelled her very best. She dislodged some snow off of the branch, which fell on her family below. Three people and two cats blinked and kept squinting up into the tree.
            As they were all staring up the tree, trying to devise a way to get Cherry down to her usual orbit, Ralph had an idea.
            He filled up his lungs and whistled his greatest whistle. He could hardly escape Maeve normally, but sometime he actually had to call her.
            In about two minutes, Maeve drifted down out of the canopy of tree tops, black and shiny. She landed on Ralph’s left shoulder and turned her eye toward him. Then she looked up into the tree.
            “Oh,” said Maeve. “I see,” she muttered.
            “Maeve can you fly up there and talk her into letting go of that branch and following you down. She likes you,” said Ralph
            “I believe I can do that,” said Maeve, lifting off and heading upward.
            On her way up she chuckled as Ravens do, calling out, “Cherry!  We are going to fly down together! Are you ready? This will be fun!” She landed right next to where Cherry gripped the branch.
            Cherry’s nose was red, and her face was covered in tears. “Mama,” said Cherry. She took a new hold on the branch. More snow fell on the watchers below.
            “Yes, yes. Let’s go to Mama, Cherry,” said Maeve in her softest most beguiling voice.
            “I will hold onto you with my claws. You will let go and we will just float down,” said Maeve, taking the baby’s hand in her claw. She gave her a little Raven nibble on her cheek to make her laugh and Cherry let go of the branch.
            Together the pale gold baby and the huge black Raven came down to earth as softly as a falling leaf. Cherry went straight to her mother’s arms. Twigg and the cats crowded around them.
            Maeve went to Ralph’s shoulder and marched importantly around in circles describing the incident as she marched. Her tail swished from side to side, and she gleamed in the firelight.
            “I owe you Maeve,” said Ralph. “You are the hero of the hour, and that’s as true as I know how to make it!”
            Her black eyes glittered. It’s hard to see if a Raven is smiling, but I think that we can assume she was.

Took Shabbat Off, Taking A Breath

🤍

       Our friend Mr. Baby Sir is a top-level expert at taking it all in stride.  He has the essentials down. The cat knows when to take a break.

        He has a busy life, like all of us do. He has an excellent tail, by the way. And he has world-class whiskers. And maybe that's enough for today.

        I appreciate you guys more than you will ever know.

 

Who Wears The Tails Around Here?

 

*🍁🌲💙🌲🍁*

            “Ralph, baby?” said Ramona, who had been thinking that morning.
            Ralph, who had been thinking also, but about life, the universe, and everything, made a just barely less than gracious grunt. “What’s on your mind, Ramona?
            “Ever since that little hairless girl, Tilly, nearly drowned out here the other day, I have been thinking that Twigg ought to be waterproofed. Now, don’t make any grease jokes Ralph!  I’m serious.  He doesn’t know how to swim or even float yet.”
            Ralph could see the wisdom in this. Truly, it hadn’t occurred to him that Twigg would need help in becoming unsinkable. He didn’t remember learning to swim himself, it just was.
            Long before he had become the titular head of Snohomish county’s eastern half, or even met Millicent Price, or learned to speak with the smoother inhabitants of the world, he had been a serious river swimmer. Fish are pleasant to eat, and a challenge to catch with the hands. He remembered many an evening as the night came down in the mountains, lurking in the rivers, barely moving, like a big water predator himself, just waiting for the right drowsy fish to drift within his reach. Ah, it had been grand! What a life!
            As he thought back to the days of his youth, there were reasons to look back fondly. From his present vantage point it appeared a simpler, more authentic time. But he had to admit that the comforts of his present life were pretty darn good!
            “Okay, Mona! You’re right. I better catch that boy and take him to the river,” said Ralph agreeably, still full of his breakfast and very comfy. He had learned to love about a quart of oatmeal porridge with cinnamon and a lot of butter. These sorts of products were earned by Ramona doing wildcrafting, as some call it. IOW she traded mushrooms, berries, wild hazelnuts and such with Thaga for butter and things like oats, which don’t grow wild in the good old MtBSNF.
            Therefore, he arose from his fireside log where he had been musing, gave Ramona a little smooch, patted Cherry, who was floating around near her mother, and went searching for his boy. Ralph figured that he would see puma tails sticking out of the underbrush somewhere, and that would be where Twigg was also.  The tails were a good marker. Now, pumas don’t go around with their tails sticking straight up like your house lions do, but they are big tails, and they swoosh them around. They even make noise.
            He checked out by his log.  No tails, no boy. He went down the trail a bit past his log, to the little fort Twigg had made where a root ball was raised up out of the ground. Nope. Empty. So he decided to feel Twigg out wherever he was, and then was inclined to head down hill toward the river. Ralph sensed that the boy was where they were going anyhow. “Ah, perfect,” he thought to himself, wondering how Twigg would react to the idea of getting into the river. But, true to his word to Ramona, he meant to find out and settle the swimming issue.
            When he got to the river, Ralph stood, massive and serene, on the round pebbles of the riverbank, surveying the surface of the shining, swiftly moving band of water. He had to really look hard, but at last he saw something breaking the surface out in midstream. What he saw were two big puma tails rising up out the water, each attached to a powerfully swimming cat. Next, he noticed Twigg’s little brown head sticking out of the surface, and he seemed to be giggling, as he swam around with Berry and Bob, diving and coming up, and spitting water, as easily as an otter.
            So, Ralph took a seat on the riverbank, sitting on a larger boulder, and just waited for the swimmers to come out of the river. Time went on, but boys and cats, though young and strong eventually do get tired. Soon, the tails and the little brown head began to swim toward the side of the river which faced home. Ralph just waited.
            Twigg and the cats came up out of the water together, all on all fours. When Twigg cleared the water he stood up.  Ralph could see that his son had something in his hand.
            “Hi, dad, look what I have,” yelled Twigg. He had his right hand forefinger hooked through the gills of a nice big trout! All three of the simmers looked tired and proud.
            “Hey Twigg. How’s it going?” said Ralph, very relaxed and calm.
            “Okay, dad, why are you sitting here on the rocks,” said Twigg. He stood there grinning at his dad, dripping river water and hanging on to his fish.
            “Mama was worried about you not being able to swim, so I came down to teach you. So, um, how long have you been doing this?”
            “Oh, dad, Berry and Bob decided to teach me after they pulled Tilly out of the river, and they came to find me and Linnet to take care of her. It didn’t take too long.  They really like to fish! Now, I like to fish too!”
            The puma bros. looked from father to son and smiled secret cat smiles.
            “Well, we may as well have fish for dinner. You guys rest and I’ll catch a few more. Find me a blackberry vine to run through their gills, would you?” And he slipped into the river, just as he always had.

Who Shall Have The Tail

 

 
            “Hey, Willie. Wake up.” Suzy looked taken up with some sudden realization.
            “I can’t  hear you,” said Willie. The furry lump tightened up tighter under the shelf, a good spot.
            “Yes you can. This is important. I just thought of something,” insisted Suzy, giving him a little biff on the forehead.
            “Remember when we were talking about fables, fairytales, folk stories and all like that?”
            “I’m not likely to forget Suzy,” said Willie. “What’s pulling your tail tonight?”
            “I just realized that we didn’t talk about parables at all! I was so distracted by the F words that I didn’t even think of a P word at all.” She stared at her brother.
            “Maybe if I hold my breath, she won’t think of poetry or prose either,” Willie thought silently. Which is quite a trick if you think about it.
            “OK. Speak to me Suzy. What does your analysis tell you about parables?” Realizing that he was in for a lesson, he rolled up into his most scholarly loaf position, to be ready for it.
            “What I think is this. A parable, in the original sense, deals the most directly of all those story forms with a moral lesson. It’s meant to teach a spiritual principle in simple terms, to make it really obvious and easy to understand. It’s a bit like a Punch and Judy show in a way.”
            “Hold up, girl. I thought a Punch and Judy show was mainly about getting hit in the head,” said Willie.
            “That works better than you might think. Sometimes a punch in the head really cements a concept! Lol. Oh you know what I mean. I just didn’t want to leave anything important out,” added Suzy.
            “Alright, how about an example? A parable a ’la Suzy Q? A statement without legs will not stand my girl!” announced Willie, with a smug little smile.
            “How about this one?” Suzy had one ready to tell him, and she began:

 

     Who Shall Have The Tail?

            Once upon a new world before all that is formed was formed, there were cats of course. And there were humans. It was very hard to tell them apart. Sometimes the cats walked upright on two legs, and sometimes the people walked on all fours.

            Then, all of a sudden, tails appeared, waving from the soil like newly sprung plant fronds of some kind.  All sorts of beautiful tails. Striped. Orange. Black and white, or just black. Some were even parti-colored like a medieval jester’s romper suit.

            The cats felt that the tails must surely be their own, for they matched their furry clothing. But, the men were already beginning to feel like the lords of creation, so they said the tails must surely belong to mankind.

            It never occurred to either of them that both could have tails. Oh, no! It must be one or the other.

            Finally, the leader and spokesman for the human creatures said to the cats, “if you will scamper and scatter before us, and kill small vermin in our homes, and let our children pet and dress you, and be in awe of mankind forever more, you may have the tails!”

            The cats sprang at the deal!  Each one seized a beautiful tail to match his suit, or some of the hipper ones went for contrast. Each cat lashed his tail back and forth, grinning from the sheer glory of it!

            Then they began to serve mankind, as they do to this day, usually, more or less, depending.  

The End

            “For Heaven’s sake, Suzy! How is that a parable?” demanded Willie, exasperated. “Whatever is the spiritual principle that story teaches?”
            “Can you truly not discern the lesson Willie,” asked his sister.
            “It’s just a pile of baseless assertions,” said Willie.  “What am I to take from that?” His whiskers bristled with irritation, and his own tail whipped back and forth.
            “Alright, then, I will spell it out for you,” said Suzy.
 
Never tempt your brother beyond his power to resist. For you may put him into bondage thereby!
           
            “OK, I still don’t know if it’s really a parable, but OK, Suzy, OK,” said Willie. “Where did you hear that?”
            “I didn’t exactly hear it. I was half asleep out behind the curtain, and it kind of rolled in like almost a dream. So I was careful to remember it.  I had to ask, ‘what are you?’ and the silent voice said ‘parable’.” said Suzy.

Thursday Greetings and Open Thread

    Much more thinking than writing today.  

Hope it's the best Thursday ever!

What say you?

*💌🤍💌*

In addition, the book is available in both Kindle and print versions.

A Plausible Story

 

Very Plausible!

🤍👱🏻‍♀️🤍

            After Ralph left them to their happiness and relief, and they were finally able to think a sensible thought, Jim and Iris began to realize that they might have a bit of a problem. In spite of the couple hundred people out searching for Tilly, um, well, here she was all warm, dry and happy. It didn’t smell right.

            “Jim, it isn’t going to work to tell the search coordinator or the police that a Sasquatch brought her back all dry and warm, like some kind of miracle,” said Iris, whispering while she kept a firm grip on Tilly.
            “Probably not. They’re already going to be getting funny thoughts about us as it is.” He leaned back in his camp chair and stared up through the fir trees as if the sky might be able to help him.
            “Some of them might even be believers, of some stripe, but I don’t think that will matter when it comes down to writing official reports,” he added. “No one, most likely, is fool enough to write a report including a “mythical” character.”
            Iris laughed, a little nervously. “It’s one of those two types of people things, isn’t it?  Except that there are more like three types of people when it comes to Squatches. There are those who “know” there is no such creature. There are those who think there might be, evidence is out there good enough for them.  Then, there are the people like us, who know because we know we know. Did that make sense?” Jim laughed agreeably.
            “Are you hungry Tilly?” asked Iris, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t fed the child since way early in the morning.
            “Soup!  Two mommies!” chortled Tilly. Her parents stared at each other.
            “Kids found me!” She laughed some more. “Cats, big!” “Hungry now,” she added.
            Iris handed her to Jim and started making a quick peanut butter and apple spread sandwich. She put some milk in a sippy cup too and was just giving the snack to Tilly when a county officer who was involved in the search arrived at the campsite.
            He stopped in his tracks when he saw Tilly on Jim’s lap calmly eating a sandwich.
            “How,” he started to say. “Where did she come from….” He walked over near to Tilly and looked at her closely, as if making sure of what he was seeing. He shook his head.
            “You must have some explanation,” said the officer. He looked at Jim, who said nothing. Then he turned and looked at Iris. There were frown lines between his eyebrows.
            Iris took a breath, and said, “about an hour ago we were just sitting here like you all told us to. You know, in case she wandered back in. Well, she didn’t wander back to camp at all. Somebody brought her back.
            A big old guy who lives around here must have found her.  I think he took her to his family to get warmed and dry, because that’s how she was when he carried her in here. Also she had been fed. She was as happy as she ever was.”
            “Who was he, get a name?”
            “No, we were in shock,” said Iris firmly. She smiled sweetly at the officer.
            “Jim?” said the officer, turning again to look at Jim closely. “What did he look like, Jim?”
            “Well. Tall. Very tall. Heavy too. Um, long dark hair….” Jim trailed off. “He seemed really friendly. Very muscular.”
            “Oh,” said Officer Kelly. “Oh. Is there something I can sit on around here Jim?”
            “Take my chair,” said Jim, getting up. “Tilly and I will sit on the hatch lid over here.”
            Officer Kelly sat in Jim’s chair and sighed. He looked from Jim to Iris and back again to Jim, sitting on the hatch lid.
            “OK, okay. I get it. I do. But nobody else will.”
            “Big!,” said Tilly.
            “Yeah, kid, I know,” said Kelly.
             “I know that guy. He ain’t no myth. I’ve never met him, but I know Millicent Price at the paper. She knows him in person.” He massaged his head, looking at the forest floor and then was silent for a moment.
            “No. 1, Tilly and you two are damn lucky he found her, or his kid did, or whatever. Damn lucky. In fact I think it qualifies as a miracle.
            “No. 2. We’ll stick to your story Iris.  You told it so well. I’m sure you can polish it up a bit for the news. Because you are going to hear from the news, and the searchers, and the Sheriff’s department.  Everybody is going to want to hear that story!,” said Officer Kelly, looking hopeful.
            “You have your girl back, I will keep my job, and Ralph is off somewhere out there in those big trees having a good giggle at all of us!”

And so he was! Ralph loves a happy ending.

A Rough Homecoming

 

“The old one is dead.”

            “How do you know,” her daughter asked.

            “There are ravens on the roof of the big house,” announced the mother, squinting at the sky, as if to find more ravens there. “They’ll need to get him into the ground soon.”

            “You never gave a care for old Archie did ya,” said Lissy. “And now he’s likely gone.”

            “Oh, yea, he’s gone. Cook told me early, there being no need to make his breakfast,” the mother shook her head, glancing at her daughter. “There will be a lot of hard work now, cleaning up the house. I hear that he would not have anyone touch a thing since Margaret died so long ago.”

            “Who will be laird now mother,” asked Lissy.

            “There is no one but young Alex. I don’t suppose you remember him very well, since he was sent to his mother’s brother a good ten years ago,” said Annie to her girl.

            Since Lissy was barely 16, no, she did not remember Alexander a bit. What’s an older boy from the big house to a child playing dollies in the yard?

*0*

            So, Alex was coming home. Word of his elderly dad’s demise had come as no surprise. He always realized that at some future date he would have to go back and run the farm. That day had arrived.

            It was still summer in the fields and woods. Not quite harvest. A bright, warm day. Thankfully it had not rained, so the farmers were cautiously optimistic. It was a pleasant ride. An easy distance from his aunt and uncle’s place. He even dawdled a bit on the way, being somewhat less than eager to put on the harness at home.

            Uncle Thomas had given him an oldish sorel mare to ride. His possessions, not many, would be brought by cart the next day. He didn’t create a grand vision at all. Here he was, a sandy headed fellow of 21 years, riding a second best horse, in rather plain brown clothing made by his aunt’s maids. He looked more like a prosperous farmer than anything else.

            But, perforce, eventually he arrived at the old house where he had been born and lived with his parents for ten years, give or take a few months. He sighed.

            “Well, dear horse, it doesn’t look any better than the last time I saw it,” observed Alex.

            In fact, it looked worse. Riding up, he saw that the chimney seemed off center, tiles were missing on the outer edges of the roof. Several chickens of varied colors and types explored the untidy grounds. No one had cut the grass in from of the house. He had serious doubts about the fields in back.  There would be plenty of time to explore that subject. He hoped that there would be some kind of a harvest. He wondered about the farm laborers. Who were they now days.

            No smoke issued from the canted chimney. So, no one was cooking today. His first order of business would be a talk with Cook. Alex was hungry and it was late for supper.

            Alex dismounted, and keeping hold of his mare’s reins he walked to the front door and pulled it open. A scene of disorder met his eyes. His home appeared almost frozen in time. The windows’ heavy draperies covered the glass, so that the room was dark. It smelled closed in, musty. A flash of anger rose up in his mind for a second.

            “Hello! Hello!” Alex shouted into the dark room. “Is anyone here at all?” Where was his father’s housekeeper? Was there a housekeeper? Was she too old to work?

            Getting no answer, he went back out and tied the mare to a sapling growing right in front of the house. Then he went back in, heading for the kitchen to see if there was anyone home.

It Was Meant To Be A Play Date

 

Suiattle River, Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest.

            Just as they had promised, Linnet’s parents brought her back one crispy fall day, to have a chance to play with her new friend, Twigg.

            Just like every other day, Ralph had collected a lot of fallen branches in the course of his usual travels through the forest and brought them home to Ramona for firewood. He never ran out of deadfall because trees just keep shedding tired branches. And he always broke them up into nice lengths,  handy for the fire.
            So when Linnet’s family arrived sometime before lunch, Ramona had a big bright fire going, because it was a rather gloomy day in the BSNF.  It hadn’t rained yet, but it was going to. She was cooking a big pot of a heavy soup of potatoes and onions, gotten from Thaga, with some wild pig bits and a lot of herbs. She was pleased to have made quite a lot seeing that they had company for lunch. All six had a nice bowl of Ramona’s soup. The puma bros tried some, but didn’t love it.
            While Linnet’s parents, Moss and Lisa, settled in by the fire to have a long chat with Ralph and Ramona, Twigg and Linnet, accompanied by Berry and Bob, decided to go take a look at Twigg’s usual haunts. He had his own trails, suitable for a short guy. He went under things Ralph would have gone over. So he usually operated rather like a rabbit, running under the brush. Of course Linnet loved it. Her home was more of a meadow area without the brush tunnels to play in.
            When they wandered down near the river, they started hearing an odd sound like some sort of animal crying. It wasn’t a scary sound. It was a little lost sound. It came from closer to the river. Twigg and Linnet hurried to find the creature that sounded so sad.
            Now, neither of them had ever seen a human person, except Thaga and Ooog, who were Neanderthals actually. So, imagine their total astonishment to find a human toddler sitting in the gravel not far from the swiftly moving water. This child, a girl, was soaking wet and very cold, almost blue looking. Her clothes, a little set of pants and a shirt dripped cold river water, as if she had been in the water and somehow had made it to the riverbank.
            “I don’t know what to do,” said Twigg, whispering to Linnet.
            “We can’t leave her here,” said Linnet. “She will die, in the water or just sitting there freezing.” (Forest People don’t get cold in the same way, thanks to their heavy coats of hair.)
            “That’s true,” said Twigg thoughtfully. “Maybe, if she can walk and will come with us, we should take her back to the grownups?”
            “We have to, Twigg,” said Linnet, truly frightened for the child.
            So, slowly, not to frighten the girl, the two children walked over the river stones to her. She stopped crying and struggled to her feet. She had no shoes on, and she was shivering violently.  She walked to Linnet and took her hand, looking into her eyes with no fear at all.
            “Can you walk?” asked Twigg. But his language was unfamiliar to her.
            “Cold,” said the lost child.
            Berry and Bob came near also, sniffing the wet child. She reached for Bob with her free hand and smiled for the first time since they had found her.
            “Twigg, you take her other hand and lets just walk her back to your place while she can walk,” said Linnet. He did as she asked, and the two older children began to slowly walk the baby off of the river stones and into the forest where it was easier going. It took a long time, and the walking was good for her. It warmed her up a bit. She looked pinker as they traveled. Berry and Bob stayed close, as if their own body heat could help her somehow.
            When they all got back to the four parents, their find created quite a sensation. The two mothers took charge of the little girl immediately. Before worrying about where she belonged they knew she needed lifesaving care.  They stripped her sodden clothing off and put it to dry near the fire. Ramona got one of Twigg’s blankets from the cave and wrapped her up in it and sat by the fire holding her. Lisa spooned some soup into the little one’s mouth. In the course of all of this, the child finally said her name was Tilly. The mothers considered this a good sign.
            “You did the right thing,” said Ralph. “Now we have to figure out how to return her. I was wondering while I was getting firewood, why all those people were walking around looking for something upstream and calling a word over and over.  Now we know, don’t we?”
            Twigg and Linnet were a little tired now, and just wanted to sit by the fire and be warm with the cats, and wait for dinner to appear.
            “Yes, we know,” said Ramona. “But how to return her without a big fuss?”
            “There may have to be a bit of a fuss, Ramona.  When she’s dry, I will carry her to where I heard the all the people searching, now that we know it was Tilly they were looking for,” said Ralph.
            Thinking of Tilly’s mother and father, Ramona and Lisa dressed her in her dry clothes in a hurry, combed her hair a bit, kissed her and hugged her and gave her to Ralph all wrapped in Twigg’s blanket.
            Tilly didn’t cry, she seemed to enjoy the altitude from Ralph’s arms, looking all around at everyone and everything in the clearing in the forest.
            Moving swiftly through the trails and paths, going further upstream than  he usually did, at last Ralph with Tilly in his arms came upon a sad campsite. A woman and a man, who had been told to stay there in case their lost child came back, sat in horrible sorrow on a couple of aluminum camp chairs.
            Ralph’s heart broke for them.
            He tried to make it easy for them. But it wasn’t easy for them. It was shocking, and potentially terrifying. There was their child, but in the arms of this unbelievable being. It was almost more than their minds could bear and process, but there was Tilly, alive and cheerful!
            The father stood and came to Ralph, holding out his arms for Tilly, who wriggled down to him, laughing. He took her to her mother, who was crying in awestricken relief.
            The father took Ralph’s hand, and just shook his head, saying, “I don’t understand any of how this happened, but thank God. Thank God.”
            The mother, carrying Tilly on her right arm, brought Twigg’s little blanket back to Ralph, who took it. She placed her hand on his arm for a second, looking into his eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
            Seeing that all seemed well, Ralph turned to walk home. As he left Tilly called out, “Bye!” He wondered if she would remember any of this when she was older.  He knew her parents would, but they were going to have a tough time explaining to their friends and the searchers.
            Ralph had to laugh a little, thinking of that scene. 

Do Trolls Have Big Feet?

 

             You probably wonder why they didn’t have the troll set up the Stone on Calling day. Well, there is a reason for that.

            The answer may have to go back to an existential question.  What is the nature of a troll. Does he remind you of anyone else? The answer may be predicated on your own personal beliefs.
            At some times, and in some places a troll is considered a bad neighbor. He’s selfish, destructive, weird looking and smells untidy!
            But then, there is the question of how big a troll might be.  Do you see? Some frightened farmer’s wife might say that he is like if a horse stood up on its back hooves. Her farmer might laugh and say, “oh no Margo.”  Smiling like he knows more, he might say, “he’s no bigger than my lunk of a nephew by my oldest sister.” This would be meant to calm her fears.  But the trouble with that is that Margo has seen and smelled him.
            Trolls love to steal a lady’s cooking, if they can. It has been done. Ring any bells? People on this side of the big water say the same thing about another wild fellow, that we know relatively well.
            Of course Zaar asked Snul to come and be with everyone at the Calling and Stone placement. He had to make a trip to the troll’s cave behind the mountain to have a little chat with him. First Snul refused to come out when called, and Zaar wasn’t interested in going into the cave himself. He had made that mistake before.
            When Snul stuck his head out to see what Zaar wanted, he was astounded to be asked to come and be with the population. But when he found out that a large stone was going to need to be set in place he figured that’s why he was being invited and he wanted nothing to do with it.
            So Zaar went on home to Tinka, had dinner and went to bed.  In the morning he got up and did all as in the previous bit of his story. After the Calling and Stone placement he came home again, just like the previous day, had dinner and went to bed.
            In the morning of the second day, there was a loud knocking on the little blue wooden door at the entrance to the tidy burrow. The knocker was a flustered red-headed bare footed goat herding boy.
            “Zaar!” And he took a minute to catch his breath. “Somebody has pulled the new stone out of the ground.  I took my goats up there this morning and it was clear down at the bottom of the hill! I thought I better tell you! What will you do?”
            Tinka got the boy a glass of milk and a slice of seedy cake and when he was done they sent him back to his goats.
            “Thanks, Been, I’ll be deciding,” said Zaar.
            So, Zaar went back to Snul’s cave and made him come out and follow him to the hill and he made him plant the stone again. Snul wasn’t that much of a tough guy, he had just gotten his nose out of joint.  It’s a thing trolls are prone to.
            I guess the point, if there is a point, is that you wouldn’t catch Ralph shoving your outdoor fridge off the deck or rolling your car over just for nasty kicks. Maybe some of those guys from further out in the wilderness might, but I’m not sure they would go out of their way to mess with people’s gardens or whatever.
            On the other hand, we have heard of stolen fish, purloined chickens, bits of mischief here and there in the great forests. So, maybe there is something a little trollish about at least some of our arboreal brethren?
            You must judge for yourself.

            Another open thread of course!

A Bit Of (Green) Doggerel

 

            “You OK, Suzy?” He found her sitting with her eyes squeezed shut, tail wrapped around as tightly as she could get it, down among the dry stores. She had a way of going stealth down between the cartons and cans. “What are you doing?  Are you sick again?”

            Willie hated it when Suzy got a little puny.  The whole house filled with concern, a kind of fog of anxiety.  That level of angst put him off his dinner! So far, she’d been fine every time.

            “I’m alive Willie. I only look sick because I’m thinking,” whispered Suzy, without opening her eyes.

            “That makes a lot of sense, strangely. What in the name of all red dots, and catnip mice do you have to think about. No wonder you look sick,” said her kindly brother.

            “It’s that green dog.  I can’t forget him out there, beyond the glass… It’s not natural to have a green dog,” she moaned a little. “I decided to write a song.”

            “Suze, you can’t write at all. You could do like the ancients did and just memorize it,” he said.

            “It’s called The Green Dog Blues. I might need some help.” She opened her eyes then.

            “Do you have any more than the title?” said Willie.

            “A little.   Out in the yard I saw him,

                            From the corner of my eye.

                           I’m not sure he’s really out there.

                          Don’t even ask me why.

            “It’s a start, but you do need help,” said Willie. “What is it that bugs you the most about the green dog?”

            “I don’t know what he wants, or why he came to our house, or what he is made of,” she said. “Mostly I’m not sure I really saw him.”

            “How about,” said Willie:

                        Among the floral plantings,

                        I think I saw him linger….

            “Oh no Willie, that’s no better than my verse,” she sighed. “What can we do?”

            “There’s only two of us today, but maybe we could have a small Power-Purr™ to sort it out,” said Willie, sitting down beside his worried sister behind the boxes.

            They put their hearts together. They purred a lengthy purr. At last some wisdom occurred to both of them, but she spoke it.

            “The Green Dog Blues is another name for a song writer’s paralysis!,” announced Suzy happily. “It has named itself!”

            “What a relief,” purred Willie. “Let’s go around to the front of the house where the sun is now. Let’s get behind the curtain and warm up where it’s hot, our favorite spot!

            “Some day you’ll write a song, and it will come easy, like words from Heaven Suzy! Don’t worry about it anymore! Worry never helped a writer one little bit, I have heard from Her own lips.”

            And that’s just what they did. And they slept for a long time, until the window got dark.

😺💚😸

Ephemera; Another Open Thread

 Happy Friday!

It's all been an awful lot of fun.

We may as well keep it up!

Purr-Power™

To Summon A King

 

            The day of Calling arrived. But it was still very early, before bird-up even. Zaar hadn’t opened an eye yet. But Tinka had.
            Up before the sun, she built a fire in her little stone oven.  Zaar always woke up hungry as a wolverine, so she had to get something going before she rolled him out of bed. She put some sausages in the oven in a copper pannikin, then mixed up a loaf of soda bread with currants and put that in to bake also. He would have small beer to drink. He wasn’t fond of tea, and they had no sugar anyhow.
            Breakfast cooked, Tinka went back to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed and began to sing. She always did this when he had to get up to do something important. About two verses in Zaar opened his eyes. It was a morning type of song.
            “Is it time?” he said.
            “Almost. You have plenty of time to get ready and to eat,” replied Tinka.
            Being a burrow dweller, Zaar was not given to fancy dress or a great deal of personal scrubbing. He arose in his long woolen underwear, scratching his red beard and blinking, very solemnly.
            After going outside for a moment, he stepped back into the kitchen, where Tinka had a bowl of warm water for him to wash his face and hands. Well, as mentioned, he was a bit of a grub. He didn’t do a very good job of it. Gnomes can be quite untidy.
            Now to dress. Leather pants. Blue woolen shirt. A leather vest. Woolen socks and heavy boots. He took his long pointed hat to kitchen with. It was made of felt beaten into shape by Tinka, mossy green and half as long as he was. He was quite vain about his hat. He had a special way of arranging the point so that it hung down just right, loose in back with just the pointed end flopped over his left shoulder. His deep set blue eyes sparkled in their nest of crinkles.
            She sat with him after serving him. Tinka had tea to go with her breakfast. After eating, he had a smoke in his old bone pipe.
            They watched the sun come up together through the small kitchen window. They lived by the sun like the birds in the sky and as the chickens in their backyard also did.
            “I had better practice it once before I go,” said Zaar. Therefor he retrieved his instrument from its shelf in the best room, bringing it in to play for Tinka. Yes.  He knew the tune and could play it well with  his bow.
            “Will you come with me,” said Zaar, though he knew the answer already.
            “I will stay with the cat, Zaar,” she said. Tinka was rather frail. Just a little cooking and housekeeping used most of her strength. The cat, Lars, would sit with her for company.  The chickens were nice, but not very good company.
            He laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead.
            “I’ll come home when it’s done Tinka. Be well,” and he went out the door, shutting it carefully and quietly behind himself.
            Lars came to her, settling himself down in her lap for a little sleep and purring. Lars was as white as a swan and was a rather hefty fellow. When he purred, she could really feel it.

***

            The stone seekers had found a good long one. It was carried from the mountains in a wooden cart pulled by two goats.
            The dwellers in the woods and fields and hillsides were drifting in, in groups and singles. Animals and all the species of Faery were represented. The mound was beginning to be circled by quite a varied crowd. All were quiet. This was always a day of forbearance between all kinds. It was a day of holy truce.
            In fact, they waited for Zaar, the Caller. He would play the song. They would sing the words to start the year. Each year there must be a new stone.
            But at last here he came, dressed and ready, carrying his bowed instrument of many singing strings. He walked through the gathered ring of creatures, standing between them and the great stone circled mound. Some greeted him, most were silent.

          He laid his instrument on the altar stone and began to play the Calling tune. Many voices rose behind him. It was sweet and insistent. Female voices predominated, with deeper notes following. He played the song a second time.  The voices followed. Then a third time, which as we all know, is the strength of the charm.

            At last, all their preparations were answered in the same old way as every year. It was said that they were summoning a king. It was perhaps a droll way of describing the event. Did they see a king? Some felt they had, those with eyes to see beyond the mundane.  Most saw a column of light. Perhaps it was all they could bear to see.
            The column of light rose up where the new stone would be set.  It was carefully marked. There must be no mistake. The light lingered there for a few moments, then it was gone, leaving a perfectly normal spring day.
            The year could begin. The stone was set in place after rather a lot of digging by a pair of powerful young men. Everyone said it looked perfect, just as if it was meant to be  there and had always been there.
            At last the tense silence was broken and the usual buzz of a group of speaking creatures rose up. The non-speaking animals added their happy utterances. There were greetings, wishes and congratulations. Babies were compared. Stories and lies told as usual. A lot of bragging commenced. Festive foods were brought forth. Creatures sat with those unlike themselves for a spring picnic.
            Seeing that all participants were happily occupied, Zaar gathered up his psaltery and bow and went to see how Tinka was faring.
            As it happens, she was still napping. Lars had done his job well. Zaar slipped in to the best room, setting his instrument in its place. Then he walked back to the kitchen where she slept. He sat down at the table and waited.
            In a few moments, feeling that he was home, she awoke.
            “It went well Tinka. The new stone is up. Spring is here,”  he told her softly.