Written Life

The only sound in the room was the of the pencil drawn over the yellowed stationary. Every day was the same, writing about the small things she did to keep herself busy. Going to the store and finding that the grocer was out of tomatoes again. Or how the wind knocked down the laundry line down in the backyard. Encouraging words of things they would do together again, the drive to the lake for a picnic. How she longed to have him hold her again. She never allowed a sad note or negative word in her posts. She could not bear causing him any pain. He often wrote how she was the island of sanity for him. He could not wait to come home and do 'the regular things'. Next to her letter was his latest post. He had written about the small village outside of Paris he was in. The flowers were blooming and they had made him think of her. The weather was beautiful and calm, much better than he had endured in the last 13 months. He spoke of making up for the last two anniversaries and a Christmas too. He reminisced about their first date, and the first house they had bought. His handwriting was so calm and clear, he seemed to have some leisure to write out his thoughts to her. He spoke of his pride of his unit and of Lt Chance. The plans those two were making of living in the same town together, to have weekend picnics and their future kids to grow up together. Downstairs Mother answered the knock on the door, drying her hands on her apron. As Mother looked over the man in the uniform her face went white...

Little King

Little King of a little hill, Watching everything while standing still. His ermine coat in perfect fluff, Covered, warm and a little gruff. Holding court, and regally seen, The Little King of Evergreen.

One of Thousands

One of thousands. That is what I am. The many of us can not even get lost in a crowded city, our numbers are too great.

When you hear the Great Winds play their songs you hear a soulful sadness. It carries the tears of the many before us, for they knew this was coming. They knew the children would not understand why they were trying to fit in. They knew the children would be lost no matter how close they kept to each other for comfort and direction. The Great Winds' song is heard in the instruments of the people. The flute that carries the mournfully cries, and the hope of harmonies for the hearts of the children. The drums, that with each beat can give pictures in the mind of life as it was.

The life that was free from the terribleness of the decay. The decay that is the downward spiral that leads to broken souls and no direction. Life was better then, better for the soul to make you one with your brother. Hold you closer to the Earth for life. Life then was better for the bond between spirit and the living. The braiding of the animals to humans, to sustain the peoples' bodies. One complete circle. It was simple. Do everything though intention and will, use your heart for guidance and you can sustain the cycle forever, and have eternal life.

But I am one of thousands. I am lost, and I feel I can not find the way. My heart tugs at finding peace and direction, but my head will not listen. It would be easy to drown these sorrows; drunken stupors to help you not hear what is in your mind. Unfocused minds to not feel what is your heart. Hate as much as you can for what you don't know that you have lost. Spitting meanness from your mouth because your ears have not heard the voice of your ancestors. These paths seem easier to tread without the guidance we so desperately need. I do not even entertain thoughts of fairness. Who am I to judge what is fair? I can not see the complete cause and effect, the small being I am. I am but one sister among the thousands.

I feel deep down inside if the thousand were to stand up, to heal their broken souls, to find their direction, listen to the voices of our ancestors, learn what we lost, feel what is in our hearts and hear our minds speak the truths, we can gain our power. Bring back our circle, and eternal life.