Bye Bye Love

There was a full moon that night. There was always a full moon now.

It began simply enough.

Who knew that moving the kitchen table, just a slight angle so she could look out the window, not one direction but three, would make the difference.

There was a new table cloth, too. After thirteen years, she was ready to look out from a different angle, a new light.

Yes, new light. The moon was full that night ushering in the Solstice, the turn of the wheel to a new year.

It was dark when she returned home to her new angle to the world. She took solace that after this night, light would grow again. Her feet hurt and her lunch bag was not to be found. She remembered setting it down at the bus stop. Her half-sandwich which she saved for dinner, half an apple, too, gone.

She had little energy to muster. All she could do was crack open the kitchen window and sit at the table to look out. First left. Then right. Finally, settling on center as a small glow above Hank’s house caught her eye. She didn’t move. For the next hour the wheel turned slowly as the moon in her fullness rose above the house, trees silhouetting a figure. Crow kept her company this evening.

The moon was full that night.

“Hey! Rosewood! Where ya been?” A voice bellowed out of the dark. With ruffled feathers, crow rose above the tree top and disappeared as the tall, lanky figure emerged.

Rose let out a sigh. The evening would now be given over to Hank. And his beer.

“Hi, Hank.”

“Mind if I rest for a few?”

These were words of ceremony.  First, Hank announcing his arrival. Her reply. Then his request, which no longer waited for approval.

Rose opened the door and Hank made himself comfortable.

Rosewood.

Each time Hank called her that, her feathers ruffled a bit. It’s not that she didn’t like Hank’s nickname for her. She just didn’t like his bold intimacy. He inserted Rosewood into their conversation the first time they met. Usually, nicknames were shortened versions of a cumbersome title. Rosewood was complex and stronger than just Rose. She never knew a Rosewood. She was named after her grandmother, an nostalgic name, a soft and feminine name. But it made her feel old and vulnerable. Rosewood suited her.

Hank took a sip from his beer and set it down on the table. He was gruff, but funny. He stayed too long most of the time. But he would do anything for her, if she just would ask. But she never asked.

Tonight with the full moon, she wanted to bathe in its glow. Alone.

“How are you, Hank?”

From behind him, Hank pulled out a bottle for her. He placed it just so in front of her as if he was presenting her with an award. It wasn’t a beer, but a clear liquid in a lovely bottle. Blue lettering in cursive. No graphics. Elegant. Hank enjoyed a bit of gin, too.

“It’s the one I told you about. Leopold’s Summer Gin. Batch #2. The one with that flower…immortal?”

“Oh, yes, immortelle, helichrysum.”

“Yeah that’s the one. I told you I’d find you a bottle. There aren’t anymore left in town. It was a small batch. I got the last one.”

She and Hank were an odd couple, if couple was the right term. He was as much of a connoisseur of beer and an occasional gin as she was with herbs in her garden. Who would know that the two would cross and make sense? But they did.

Hank turned on Pandora. He knew what Rose liked but always started with his channel.

“Bye bye happiness. Hello, loneliness. I think I’m gonna cry…” trailed out of the speakers, through the kitchen window following the trail of the moon as it made its way across the sky and back down again. They sipped gin straight with a bit of ice and talked for hours about nothing, but mostly about everything that made them two of a kind…

And yet, so separate that Hank gathered a blanket and gently covered Rosewood curled up on the couch as he locked the door behind him.

There was a full moon that night. There was always a full moon’s glow for Hank and Rosewood.

 
Author’s Note:

Our writing group met last night. We had new members join us and our prompt master was more than masterful.

My luck of the draw’s image and opening line was: There was a full moon that night; there was always a full moon now.

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I do not have an attribution for either images or the prompt. If anyone knows, please let me know!

I am thankful for…

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My feet
to step on Mother Earth
connecting me to her
and all that grows beneath
and rises above to meet the breath of day.

My lungs to breathe in Life.
My eyes to watch Moon
cycle in remembrance of
my fragility and fiercness.

My skin
to touch the Sun’s warmth in my heart
and know his fire burn to ash
when I must begin anew.

My nose to smell lilac and rose, pine and rain, and doggie breath.
My ears to hear crow and whispered wind, roaring waves,
and
the deep stillness of You within.

Lips and arms to hug and kiss you…
my love, my Bean, my dear sweet friends,
the children of this Earth,
each and every one of you.

You.

…..

Happy day of gratitude and joy.

May compassion be the way for this day
with gentleness and love for all – even the hard ones.

Munay. Aho. Amen.

Lexanne

Sleeping Giants

 A New Mexican Thanksgiving Suite

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In slanted light of falling sun
golden prairie settles.

Stalwart mesa shades its face
as piñon round and sagebrush knurled
lift their prayer in dusk’s sweet stillness.

And giants sleep into the night.
The Ancient Ones, who rest and dream
through dawn and day until
the time they raise their head
to welcome us back home again.

Fog

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He sniffs the damp fence post, a reveal of who came before.
Deciding all is well, he leaves his mark
and we continue on.
Fog sneaks in behind us, a foreshadowing of storm.
We will not venture out into early morning falling flakes,
only because I fear ice that lays waiting to surprise,
A turn of seasons offers its own perspective,
leaving its mark for me to decipher.

 

My Heart

My heart is my secret weapon.

No one knows, only I.

I know how to pull back the bowstring, just right, not to far, and not too loose. Then let go. Let it go and do as it will. Ascend into the air and fall where it must. That’s the important part – plan and let go. Let the arrow do it’s job.

It was an odd day. It was the Day of The Snow Eclipse. No one invited it. It just happened. An unwelcome visitor ending festivities minutes after completion, too soon.

I pulled out a shawl I tucked away in case, always in case, it is needed. I wrapped it around to warm my shoulders.  It’s magenta of the softest wool spun by hand and knit with intention. Each stitch pulled and tied with meaning, hope for outcome. Yet leaving the wearer to do as they will.

The crowd dispersed quickly as the dry flakes floated to their rest. Really, a quick melt. The days had been warm, so a long life was not in their cards. A party of white would have to wait for the days to come.

I packed my cards and small table, cloth and electric candles into the petite suitcase that had been carried by my grandmother a century ago with its precious cargo nestled inside. Now, it was electric candles instead of beeswax because today’s weather brings little rain and only dry snow. It was a labor of love as I placed each ancestral piece into its own spot carved out of foam covered with silk cloth.

With a click, a lock secured the broken clasp that no longer held itself together, time having worn it down to indifference.

I stood, handle firmly gripped as I lifted what shouldn’t be heavy, yet it always was at the end of a long day of reading and inquiry. Straightening my back and taking a step forward, my booted foot caught the fringe of my skirt and I felt myself in free fall. You know the one, when time seems to stop and you tell yourself that you are falling, as if you didn’t know. And you fall with nothing to catch yourself, tumbling over the small suitcase, and one more time just for assurance’s sake.

It’s not so bad when one is all alone. In the dark and quiet and the words can flow with ease.

Before I could take a breath, I heard a snicker.

Great. Someone saw my graceful tango with fringe, boot, and suitcase.

Unable to untangle myself, I didn’t turn around or hold back to see the origin of the annoyance.

“So don’t why don’t you make yourself useful and…”

Before I could finish, a leather gloved hand, graceful but strong offered itself. Green leather, a bronze patina. Small swirls edged into it with a delicate finesse.

“And so I shall,” a gentle voice flowed over me.

Oh, yes. I forget too easily about my secret weapon.

Thankfully, the honeyed scent from the arm now balancing me,

reminded me,

reminded me,

remind me…

 

Author’s Note:

Today we met to write. My first line chosen at random was : My heart is my secret weapon.

The words to include: eclipse, invited, minutes, sincker, magaenta, colleague, ascend, and labor. I think I only missed “colleague.”