Story Me ThisThe line of worn travelers straggled from the brightness of the barren gray rock valley into the cave mouth, all carrying bags of various sizes and too weary to talk much. The light of the sun was moderated here in the cave due to the angle of the overhang, so they could remove shaded goggles and blink tired eyes, but only a few had the motivation to do so. At the head of the group, their guide folded his map and looked askance at the etched markings on the cave wall, none of which held any meaning for him.
"How much longer?" asked the woman behind him, unslinging her bag so she could roll her neck. "Our elders will need to stop." The pretty woman in tattered brown and gray layers had recently reached her twentieth year. Her husband was two years older, both of them stoop-shouldered with advancing age. The three weeks of travel had not been easy on any of the travelers, but it had taken a toll on the elders especially, some of whom were even as old as thirty, and the guide's wife had t
Self-DiscoveryAs a young man, out back where the trail curls around
to meet the creek, where you can still smell the ghost
of a three-year-old fire - he used to think of novels;
pieces of charcoal we hold as holy, hoping a pen can
put the grit of cinders back into our mouths.
The last chapter seemed to him smaller and further
away, and the goalposts so thin, and the grey plot so dim.
By thinking of things, you could understand them.
The way small animal tracks leave mud holes where smaller
spiders spun overnight webs, delicate, complex, stunning.
By morning the threads are strung with tiny blue water
beads, dewy pearls on finest silk as if drop
Something Very Special (Revised)Something Very Special
He looked at me with naïve blue eyes. Clear oceans of curiosity that stared up at me. Just like my own. Whenever he did this, he would always make the same request. A simple request, for a story he cherished. A story he loved, that was just as bitter-sweet to tell as it was to hear.
The story told of a prince from a far away place, from a time before either he or I were born. Even still, it was not a tale of a world that was young. Even in the prince's lifetime it was ancient. An old world filled with old songs. Its own melody was one of the few things to outlast it.
Even with all else silent, that song lived
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