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It was a perfect night for walking. As the sun went down,
so did the temperature drop accordingly. The everyday forest was magically
transformed. She loved cold weather.
She could see her breath in the air. It was not
dangerously cold, around 20℉. It was just nice for a person who was inclined to
being too warm all of the time.
There was a dog. A companion in frost walking. A small female border collie. Penny.
It probably seems strange in this day and cautious age, that she was allowed to go out night walking, but she was. There it is!
The dim two lane road beckoned between the dark trees. It led up into the hills. She went that way. Penny stayed right at her heels, almost like she was a bit apprehensive.
Overhead, between the treetops there was some green light in the sky, curtaining. The first Aurora of her life. She sang to it, one of those funny adolescent freeform songs.
Headlights. A car drove by, slowly, but then sped up. No one she knew.
Everybody knows that crows and ravens go to bed at night. They don’t compete with owls, or any other night hunter. But, we also know that Maeve doesn’t follow the normal rules. She’s a bit of an anomaly. Sometimes she goes to bed and sometimes she keeps an eye on things like the inquisitive old bird she is.
An unusually large raven landed a few feet in front of our girl. The Raven spread her wings and ducked her head.
“Hey,” said the Raven. “If you will follow me, I will show you a thing or two!”
“Hmm! Why should I follow you Raven? How do I know you won’t lead me astray?”
Maeve thought about that worthy question, then said, “observe your dog there. She sees no harm in me. Dogs are very good at judging things; you must know by now.”
“Well, then, if Penny trusts you, I will come along to see what you will show me.”
“Come up this way,” said Maeve, “there is a hidden path among the huckleberry bushes.”
Maeve showed the way. Girl, may as well give her a name, say Portia, why not? Portia and Penny followed Maeve onto the wee hidden path deeper into the forest of alders, and maples all shed of their leaves, and even a few birches. Of course, in these tales there are always Douglas firs. A given.
The path went on and on. It wound around massive boulders, it skirted ravines with tinkling rivulets down at the very bottoms. It led always uphill.
“Are you tired, my child,” said Maeve, in a motherly sort of way.
“No. I can walk all night if I need to,” affirmed Portia, stoutly. “I may get hungry, but that’s alright.”
Maeve hopped and flew before them in little spurts, until they came to a place Portia had never seen before. It was a clearing in the forest. It was strangely attractive and seemed very welcoming to her.
As they cleared the finale hump in the path, she saw that there was a fire burning in a sort of rustic firepit. Around the fire, on some conveniently placed sections of log, sat several figures. Two were large, very large, and two were smaller.
“Where have you taken me, Raven,” said Portia, in a small voice.
“Listen,” said Maeve, so Portia did listen. What she heard was singing, not entirely different from her walking under the Aurora song.
As the song went on, it made pictures in her mind. She saw the sea, and ships tossed on the mighty waves. She saw foreign lands, palm trees and exotic buildings. There were other scenes. Homes and peoples. Troubles and love.
She saw the forest going on forever as if she were flying over it. She beheld the mountain tops, near enough to touch. The whole of the vast sky of the western continent opened up before her as Ralph sang on and on.
“Who is singing, Raven,” cried Portia.
“It is the King’s song,” said Maeve. “By the by, my name is Maeve.” She winked a raven wink.
“What King is this, Maeve?”
“He’s right over there with his family and his two cats. We can go and say good evening to them. They know we are here anyhow,” said Maeve.
Portia and Penny followed her to the fire circle. There she saw what manner of people lived there. They were very big, covered in soft fur, and looked quite friendly.
“Here are Portia and Penny, the dog,” said Maeve. Portia wondered briefly how the Raven had divined her name but finally thought that was the smallest of the oddnesses of this night.
“Hello, sir,” said the girl, Portia with her dog sitting at her left heel. “This Maeve says that you are the King here.”
The largest figure looked at her. He had to be eight feet tall; he was a bit pouchy; his beard was streaked with white on the sides. He had widely spaced deep brown eyes with smile wrinkles all around them. He had a rather wide nose, with a bridge though.
“I am Ralph. Beside me is Ramona, my Firekeeper. I have also a son here, my Twigg and my small daughter, Cherry.” The children beheld her with bright eyes. The woman gazed calmly on.
“Do you have a question, Portia?” he asked in a voice like soft distant thunder.
“Sir, whose visions were those in the song? Did they come from the words or the music, or were they summoned up from my soul?” asked Portia.
“What I think is that the song calls forth visions of your people before you. But it also gave you a glimpse of the mighty forest. I like to throw that in!” He laughed. “For free!”
Portia was satisfied with the answer. It made a lot of sense.
“Are you hungry, dear,” asked the large mother. “We have some soup I made of wild turkeys and mushrooms and herbs.”
“Yes, ma’am. That sounds very good,” said Portia.
So, the girl and her dog had a very late supper of soup, both of them. They had some pleasant conversation about all sorts of little things that she couldn’t remember all that clearly later.
The soup was very nice, served in hand carved wooden bowls
Maeve watched from Ralph’s left shoulder, walking back and forth and chuckling to herself because she was quite please with this night’s adventure.
As it got later, Ramona said, “your mother will be starting to worry about you being out so late. I can send you home in a flash, if you will hold my hand while I sing. Keep a hand on your dog. Now picture in your mind walking up to your door at home and I will sing you there.”
So, Portia grabbed Penny’s collar and held Ramona’s hand, sitting beside her on a log by her fire. She thought as hard as she could about the walkway up to her front door, seeing each detail. Then she heard Ramona singing the going home song. It was like clouds on a spring day.
It reminded her of something so sweet and long ago that she couldn’t quite place it, though she tried.
When she opened her eyes, she found that her hand was on the latch of her parents’ front door. In amazement, she walked right in. The house seemed very warm after her frosty walk.
“Hi, Mom, I’m back,” she shouted in the direction of the domestic sounds she heard in the kitchen.
“It’s about time, Portia! Lock the door will you?” said her mother.
Portia never went looking for Ralph or any of them again, but neither did she ever forget them.
There was a dog. A companion in frost walking. A small female border collie. Penny.
It probably seems strange in this day and cautious age, that she was allowed to go out night walking, but she was. There it is!
The dim two lane road beckoned between the dark trees. It led up into the hills. She went that way. Penny stayed right at her heels, almost like she was a bit apprehensive.
Overhead, between the treetops there was some green light in the sky, curtaining. The first Aurora of her life. She sang to it, one of those funny adolescent freeform songs.
Headlights. A car drove by, slowly, but then sped up. No one she knew.
Everybody knows that crows and ravens go to bed at night. They don’t compete with owls, or any other night hunter. But, we also know that Maeve doesn’t follow the normal rules. She’s a bit of an anomaly. Sometimes she goes to bed and sometimes she keeps an eye on things like the inquisitive old bird she is.
An unusually large raven landed a few feet in front of our girl. The Raven spread her wings and ducked her head.
“Hey,” said the Raven. “If you will follow me, I will show you a thing or two!”
“Hmm! Why should I follow you Raven? How do I know you won’t lead me astray?”
Maeve thought about that worthy question, then said, “observe your dog there. She sees no harm in me. Dogs are very good at judging things; you must know by now.”
“Well, then, if Penny trusts you, I will come along to see what you will show me.”
“Come up this way,” said Maeve, “there is a hidden path among the huckleberry bushes.”
Maeve showed the way. Girl, may as well give her a name, say Portia, why not? Portia and Penny followed Maeve onto the wee hidden path deeper into the forest of alders, and maples all shed of their leaves, and even a few birches. Of course, in these tales there are always Douglas firs. A given.
The path went on and on. It wound around massive boulders, it skirted ravines with tinkling rivulets down at the very bottoms. It led always uphill.
“Are you tired, my child,” said Maeve, in a motherly sort of way.
“No. I can walk all night if I need to,” affirmed Portia, stoutly. “I may get hungry, but that’s alright.”
Maeve hopped and flew before them in little spurts, until they came to a place Portia had never seen before. It was a clearing in the forest. It was strangely attractive and seemed very welcoming to her.
As they cleared the finale hump in the path, she saw that there was a fire burning in a sort of rustic firepit. Around the fire, on some conveniently placed sections of log, sat several figures. Two were large, very large, and two were smaller.
“Where have you taken me, Raven,” said Portia, in a small voice.
“Listen,” said Maeve, so Portia did listen. What she heard was singing, not entirely different from her walking under the Aurora song.
As the song went on, it made pictures in her mind. She saw the sea, and ships tossed on the mighty waves. She saw foreign lands, palm trees and exotic buildings. There were other scenes. Homes and peoples. Troubles and love.
She saw the forest going on forever as if she were flying over it. She beheld the mountain tops, near enough to touch. The whole of the vast sky of the western continent opened up before her as Ralph sang on and on.
“Who is singing, Raven,” cried Portia.
“It is the King’s song,” said Maeve. “By the by, my name is Maeve.” She winked a raven wink.
“What King is this, Maeve?”
“He’s right over there with his family and his two cats. We can go and say good evening to them. They know we are here anyhow,” said Maeve.
Portia and Penny followed her to the fire circle. There she saw what manner of people lived there. They were very big, covered in soft fur, and looked quite friendly.
“Here are Portia and Penny, the dog,” said Maeve. Portia wondered briefly how the Raven had divined her name but finally thought that was the smallest of the oddnesses of this night.
“Hello, sir,” said the girl, Portia with her dog sitting at her left heel. “This Maeve says that you are the King here.”
The largest figure looked at her. He had to be eight feet tall; he was a bit pouchy; his beard was streaked with white on the sides. He had widely spaced deep brown eyes with smile wrinkles all around them. He had a rather wide nose, with a bridge though.
“I am Ralph. Beside me is Ramona, my Firekeeper. I have also a son here, my Twigg and my small daughter, Cherry.” The children beheld her with bright eyes. The woman gazed calmly on.
“Do you have a question, Portia?” he asked in a voice like soft distant thunder.
“Sir, whose visions were those in the song? Did they come from the words or the music, or were they summoned up from my soul?” asked Portia.
“What I think is that the song calls forth visions of your people before you. But it also gave you a glimpse of the mighty forest. I like to throw that in!” He laughed. “For free!”
Portia was satisfied with the answer. It made a lot of sense.
“Are you hungry, dear,” asked the large mother. “We have some soup I made of wild turkeys and mushrooms and herbs.”
“Yes, ma’am. That sounds very good,” said Portia.
So, the girl and her dog had a very late supper of soup, both of them. They had some pleasant conversation about all sorts of little things that she couldn’t remember all that clearly later.
The soup was very nice, served in hand carved wooden bowls
Maeve watched from Ralph’s left shoulder, walking back and forth and chuckling to herself because she was quite please with this night’s adventure.
As it got later, Ramona said, “your mother will be starting to worry about you being out so late. I can send you home in a flash, if you will hold my hand while I sing. Keep a hand on your dog. Now picture in your mind walking up to your door at home and I will sing you there.”
So, Portia grabbed Penny’s collar and held Ramona’s hand, sitting beside her on a log by her fire. She thought as hard as she could about the walkway up to her front door, seeing each detail. Then she heard Ramona singing the going home song. It was like clouds on a spring day.
It reminded her of something so sweet and long ago that she couldn’t quite place it, though she tried.
When she opened her eyes, she found that her hand was on the latch of her parents’ front door. In amazement, she walked right in. The house seemed very warm after her frosty walk.
“Hi, Mom, I’m back,” she shouted in the direction of the domestic sounds she heard in the kitchen.
“It’s about time, Portia! Lock the door will you?” said her mother.
Portia never went looking for Ralph or any of them again, but neither did she ever forget them.
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