Thursday, February 15, 2007

wandering word of the week: story

She was a story-teller. They would come to listen, but more
to watch her long hands weave the story. She caught threads from the air and
brought them into her loom of magic, nimbly coaxing colours to wrap around
each other, for moonlight to shine with the sun. And her stories, they slew dragons,
poured with rain and flashed lightning fire, roaring with the voice of the sea. And sometimes
they smiled gently, a spring breeze nudging Persephone up from under the soil, a rainbow without rain, sleeping breath of a beloved. They came from far and near to listen,
enraptured by the words and images she conjured up from a land far, far away, someplace
they tried to find but drowned on the way, lost in the cadence and glitter of what she wove. They cheered and sighed and wept, grouped around her like
children, faces turned to her dumb as daisies and bright as snow, wishing that
she could see them just once, that her blind eyes would
sparkle with recognition and delight for them the way theirs did for her, that strange
and beautiful
story-teller, somewhere in a mossy
amphitheatre of her own creation, surrounded always by the fairies
of her fancy

Mina at 2:24 PM