Story/whitter

Sometime when it is all set up so I can do it I shall chapterize the story entries. I am not technically astute or organized like Fearless Dreamer so I can’t do it myself; I shall have to wait for the DiaryMaster to have his chapterizing tool up. Anyway, it continued a bit last night. I whittered this morning.

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Days passed as they usually did at the cottage. The cows were tended to; the sheep grazed and the lambs darted about; the crops grew into ripe and weighty fullness. Helen had the help of the neighbors’ children, but most of the work fell to her, and she never minded. Maggie spun and dyed her yarn, and wove long into the summer evenings. She prepared the meals and relieved Helen at the butter churn often as not; freshened the bedding straw and swept the floor smooth and clear.
One evening, just past twilight, as Helen made her tired slow way homeward after a long market day, she heard a soft distant sound and felt a strange charge in the air. As the sound grew louder and came nearer she recognized the pounding of many hooves and the rolling of several cart wheels, and as she had some weeks earlier, she thought to take herself back from the road until the coming group had passed by. It was a large company, at least a hundred people, mostly men, although there was a group of five women riding in the midst of the party. Helen recognized a few of the faces and realized that this was the same party she had seen riding out all those weeks before, now returning to the castle. She thought of the young lady, and of all the cold dark chambers and corridors she had seen. One of the ladies looked like Izzy might in perhaps five years’ time; Helen wondered if she might be a sister or some other relation to that imperial impulsive young person.
After the party had ridden well ahead, Helen continued on her own way home.

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Saint Jimmy

Remind me of the time it takes
to build a worthy structure
shall I whisper this thing I know
though I can fly off on an impulse
and at times I hunger for your vision

It is in the choice of versions
of a song I love
or the clothing I wear
because I know I am a fool
that you will come to me as this world allows
allow me to visit you as this world goes

Dancing on the outskirts
flitting and winking in customary lightness
for I will keep my inconvenience here
my lioness outrageousness will strut
harmlessly distant from that careful haven

I am not history
but an island itself
my hope asleep in myth and legend
blending with the words of my favorite bard
chains of bondage
wings of hope
no frontiers and
I’ve seen heaven in your eyes

He is blessed and blessing
silencing me in his songs
listen close now
yes the longing is on me
I am awash in it
and it matters not at all