Sunday, July 30, 2006

Night Ride to the Baba Yaga



One cannot resist what L’Enchanteur bids, so I made my way down to the stables at the Duwamish Inn where I was staying. It was big and airy and many ears perked up and bright intelligent eyes turned my way as I entered. An elderly woman, small and spry, emerged from a stall with a loaded shovel.

“Don’t mind me—doin’ a little housekeeping for my guests….” She disappeared out a side door and came back a moment later, shovel empty.

“Now, what can I do for you, madam?” she chirped.

“I’ve been asked by L’Enchanteur to come here and pick out a horse.”

“Ah, yes. L’Enchanteur—smart lady, don’t you know. But, madam, you should know—you don’t pick the horse, the horse picks you.”

I sighed. “Yes, I’ve had experience with picky horses. My dumb luck I’ll get another ornery one. Just as long as this one doesn’t talk, I’ll be fine.”

“Talk? These horses don’t talk….except one youngin’ in the back. Still tryin’ to figure who his sire is. Odd little bugger. Won’t shut up. Anyway, let me open the stalls and we’ll see what happens.”

The stablewoman moved from stall to stall, tripping the latches and opening them all. Then she and I waited. Just as I was starting to fidget and flashback to school days when I was last to be chosen for a playground team, one horse, a long-legged blue roan, clopped out of the stall and stopped in front of me.

“Ah, Syren—who would have thought her? Well, madam, you will be well pleased if not a bit surprised with this one. No doubt, you’ll have a….wonderful… night ride.” The stablewoman looked a bit nervous and hurriedly scampered off.

“Wait! Night ride? What’s that? I thought I’d come back tomorrow and just take her for a little trot. Hello? Ma’am?”

The stablewoman was out of sight. I stared at Syren for a moment. “Night ride, huh? Can’t be any scarier than a ride on a thunderbird.”

Syren tossed her head and snorted. I think she was laughing at me.

Syren let herself be quickly saddled and then she rocketed out of the stable before I was properly mounted. I held on to the horn with one hand while trying to grab the reins with the other.

We pounded down the Inn Road, dark silhouettes of alder trees whipping past us. A waning gibbous moon raced along with us from behind the leaves. My vision could not pierce the darkness ahead of me, and I futilely tried to rein in Syren. Instead, she picked up speed. It seemed as though her legs had stopped moving and she was merely skimming along the surface of the road. The trees swooshed by faster and faster until they merged together into a blur.

I thought I heard voices, whispering actually, familiar whispers from long dead relatives, snippets of laughter from friends and enemies--I do not know which. Faces, like phantoms, faded in and out, faces of family and friends now forgotten, some by time and others by will.

I called out, "Syren! Slow down! Whoa!", but the blue roan was out of my control. Wind whipped my face and after all time seemed to stop, I could no longer catch a breathe. Darkness descended and I no longer knew anything.

When I came to, I felt something soft and warm beneath me. I sat up and wiped a fine, sugary sand from my face. Syren stood next to me and watched with inquisitive eyes.

"Syren! What's the deal!?" Before I could let loose with a barrage, I turned and was made speechless by the sight before me.

"We're not in Lemuria anymore, Syren!"

The horse snorted and stamped a forefoot. I stood up on a beach and stared at the sea that stretched into forever. Not a breeze stirred, not a wave moved upon the shore. All was eerily still and completely silent. Islands in the distance reflected with total clarity in the stillness of the water. The moon, devoid of her ancient markings, a perfect white sphere, floated over the horizon, poised to set, yet there was no movement. It was like being trapped within a photograph.

Yet, something was familiar. I had seen this in a dream. And the water, the shore, the moon-- these were all images that had at one time or another found their way into my artwork and writing.

Then it hit me: "Syren! This is my unconscious!"

Syren softly whinnied.

"But I'd thought there'd be more. You know, archetypes flitting around, or one of those quest characters, like the Trickster, hanging around-- all that stuff Jung talks about."

Syren shook her steely gray mane.

"No, wait, you're right. That would be the Collective Unconscious. But.... if this is MY unconscious, then why's it so dead? There's nothing going on. No wonder I get writer's block-- my Unconscious is a freakin' bore!"

"Great!" I picked up Syren's reins and prepared to mount. "I'll just pack up and head back to the Real World. Plenty to draw on there--- war, pestilence, global warming,-- who needs this place!"

My eye caught something. I paused and squinted. Away in the distance flashed a white and yellow light. At the extreme end of a point of land was a structure.

"What's that? It looks like a lighthouse." The light pulsed like a heatbeat.

"I knew there had to be SOME action here. Let's go check it out!"

I mounted Syren. "Sweetie, your re-entry really needs some work, so let's keep the speed down, shall we?"

Syren and I shot off down the beach toward the light.

Being in the backwaters of my own mind, distance had no meaning, and Syren delivered me to the lighthouse almost immediately. We stopped in a clearing in front of the lighthouse, a single tower of stone with the light I had seen on the beach still pulsing at the top. Like the beach, there was no sound and no other movement.

I dismounted and slowly approached the door. Embedded on the door was an intricately decorated tile with a calligraphic symbol embossed in the middle. I fingered the symbol and studied it.

“Destiny.”

I jumped and spun around. Standing behind me was an old woman. She was red-cheeked and wrinkled, wearing a dress and apron that reminded me of traditional Russian peasant garb. She carried a bucket of water in each hand.

“It means ‘destiny’. Could you please open the door?”

Still staring at her, I pushed open the lighthouse door. The old woman set the pails of water on the ground and stepped through the open door.

“Could you please bring those dear?”

I picked up the pails and followed her in.

“Set them there. Could you throw some wood on the fire and get a kettle going for tea?”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” I said. “First, who are you?”

“The Keeper of the Lighthouse, of course. Fetch me my wrap please. It’s a might cold.”

“You’re the lighthouse keeper? Excuse me, but it doesn’t seem that you get many ships out here from what I can see. Not much action of any kind. So what’s the need for a lighthouse?”

“Oh, no, we don’t get any ships out here; you’re right about that. But I need to keep the light burning, nonetheless.”

“Why?”

“Oh, you know why, my dear.”

“No, I don’t. What’s so special about that light?”

“Please, don’t trifle with me. I know why you’re here. You’re here to steal the light.”

“What are you talking about? I just came out here to look around.”

“You can’t have the light! I’m the Keeper!”

“Fine, whatever.” I edged towards the door. Things were getting a little weird and I wanted to jump on Syren and go.

“No! You can’t leave. You’ll tell others about the light.” The old woman advanced towards me.

“No, I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“You lie!” Suddenly, the woman’s face contorted. Her chin began jutting outward until it had curled up over her mouth. Her nose began growing until it hooked down. Her face took on the appearance of a large-mandibled insect.

Her eyes turned puss-yellow and her finger nails grew out until they curled under into claws.

I screamed and scrambled to open the door. Just as I slid out, I felt something grab the tail of my shirt. I yanked away and called out:

“Syren! Let’s get out of here!”

The horse bolted toward me and I swung up and into the saddle. “Go!” I commanded.

Syren took off down the beach. I craned my head around looking for our pursuer. I remember the tales told by the other travelers at the Inn. This must be the Baba Yaga and what she did to her victims was horrific beyond description.

Suddenly, a thought hit me so powerful that I reined Syren to a skidding stop.

“Syren! What’s wrong with all of this?”

Syren bellowed.

“Yeah, I thought so too.” I wheeled her about and we headed back to the lighthouse.

When we arrived, the hag was gone and the old woman, placid and calm, sat in front of the door peeling potatoes. I jumped off the horse before she had come to a complete stop.

“Hey! Listen to me, you old bat! This is MY unconscious; therefore, this is MY lighthouse, and if I wanted that light it would be mine too! Now, take a hike!”

The old woman dropped her knife and potato. She laughed so hard she had trouble staying on the stool.

“Of course, my dear, of course it’s your light!”

“What?”

“Yes, I wondered how long it would take for you to figure it out.”

“Excuse me? Did I miss something?”

“Apparently, not until today. Yes, that is YOUR light. It is the light of your intuition. It’s been here in your unconscious all these years, pulsing, waiting for you to come claim it. Here.” She handed me a lit lantern.

“Well….. I’m confused…. Why all the theatrics?... Why didn’t you just say so?”

“If I had just offered it to you, you wouldn’t have wanted it. I had to make you work for it. I had to make you want it. With the light of your intuition in hand, this world in your mind will now come alive. Just wait and see.”

With that, the Baba Yaga started laughing again and then vanished.

Still holding the lantern, I climbed aboard Syren. “Let’s go home now.”

Syren whinnied. I looked into the sky just in time to see a purple pig with polka dots fly by.

Images and Text: Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

Monday, November 07, 2005


Sacre Coeurs, " Please Pegasus, lets land just for a while. I want to walk in the foot steps of some of my favorite artists in the Montmartre district. Posted by Picasa


The world faded from view as Pegasus speeded towards my dream location of Paris during the time period when artists dominated Montmartre. I feel a very vulnerable, perched so precariously on the back of this fast moving horse but my mind was also filled with expectations which kept me from calling out to demand Pegasus return to the gypsy camp. My fists were getting cramped from holding on so tightly but finally I could feel Pegasus slowing his unearthly speed and slowly descending. As the night lights of Paris slowly came into view Pegasus glided in large circles over this sparkling jewel and gave me closer and closer views of the city. Mental maps spread out in front of my mind as I tried to get orientated, Yes, there is the Eiffel tower, and Arch de Triumph on the Champs-Elysees, the river Seine�OHHH. And there is The Iles and Notre-Dame on the Isle�the left bank�and;;;THERE���There is the Sacre Coeurs white domes beckoning under floodlights. �� Sac le Coeur is near Montmartre. Please Pegasus. .Please set down and let me see, smell and feel the atmosphere of the Montmartre.  Posted by Picasa

Monday, October 31, 2005

Heather's ride

TRIPLE WONDER

Listen close to the whispering leaves
of memories fallen from Life's Tree,
and you will know of the chant of three.

"Foresooth come one, bind two, circle three
To seize hold of quest and courage --
By this count your will is forged to be."

For they are the Steeds of the Goddess,
that plunge across dream filled skies,
in thrine with earth and wind a fire.

You but need supply the human tears
for the fine charity you must share,
for Her chariot to clear the path.

Ever grasp the reins and spare the whip,
for Shea guides with gentle hand
that ye may find answers from within.

Their names are Spirit, Soul and Mind
that must pull in harness one the same,
if thee would beguile the Enchantress.

"Foresooth come one, bind two, circle three
To seize hold of quest and courage --
By this count your will is forged to be."

Friday, October 28, 2005

Heather's Night Ride


Monday, October 24, 2005

Thought on Pegasus


Last Christmas I got Em a print of Van Gogh's "Half-Angel" or "Head of Angel". It now hangs beneath our print of his "Night Stars."

I suddenly came to me (and all who see them together) just what all of those fussy stars in his paintings are.

When I first saw this print many years ago, I thought of Pegasus. Imagine seeing him depart without being on his back -- going perhaps to Shernai

faucon

Friday, October 21, 2005

Pegasus

PEGASUS by RIGHT (1)

I called him up once, long ago,
(Pegasus I mean)
in boyish zeal and just because I could --
after being told how by the little lady
I helped across a street
that wasn't there (another story).

He looked just like the drawing
in an old book on mythical things --
that is, he looked just as I imagined,
which was OK because I wished
to go to an imagined place --
anywhere but home.

He was mighty big back then
and I could only get mounted, it seemed,
by making a stack of teetery things
I'd left lying around and unattended,
and somehow told of a lack of confidence
and I decided not to go just then.

Perhaps it is time to try again …


PEGUSUS by Right (2)


There is a place that I would go --
a whimsy perhaps or pulsing draw on soul,
one.

Yet I am not sure that mystical wings
of dream steed, here empowered
can fetch me there --
(when you said anywhere
you were not prepared for me)

So I entrance a test spin first,
an appraisal of my worth and readiness
more than gifted flight of Pegasus;
for magick is of believing, most assuredly,
and I must call on knowing.

So I perform the ancient call again --
hands folded as in Kalbadam,
mind searching for the spirit cord
that silver binds to Source and all,
fretted at that hidden spot
'tween third eye and heart pulse …

a single note -- not of earthly scale …
and he comes!

He senses my mischief --
tossing silver head and impatient forehoof,
gossamer mane asweep with stars
and watching faerie eyes …
unable to leave, as is his want,
but bound by the command --
the right that I have claimed.

"and where would we go?
is the whisper on the silent breeze.


PEGASUS by Right (3)

I am sure the steed of light
is used to riders anxious to be
off and gone,
but I settled back against a mossy stone
and played with a sprig of thyme.

"I doubt you have ever been
to where I wish to go," says I;
and gained Pegasus' full attention --
of one eye grey,
the other green,
and quivering nostrils
in between.

"and I'm not worried that you can get there,
but …," I trial off.

Of my future flight attendant,
I did not sense any change;
but it seemed that the silence grew heavy
as other, unseen beings hovered near.

I continued unafraid,
"my fear is that you may not return,
it being so beautiful and all,
and I'd be stranded, or delayed;
and me not being immortal like you,
well …"

I cannot describe the welling of emotion
that rippled over me, for I (and thee)
cannot mix curiosity, compassion and indignation
in a snort --
of mirth, with echoed laughter --
but also something else beyond and through.
Pegasus offered me friendship,
and everything was answered.

"All I ask," I sent a thought-song;
"Is that you bring this experience to me,
if I ask too much of trust and fancy;
for I would gift this place to you
for evermore --
to rest and enjoy
alone."

Pegasus seemed more of a colt
as he settled into the meadow grass
now resplendent with flowers
and bees chanting mantras.

The waving fir tips brought a message,
"as it will be --
everywhere and at all times."

I knelt and whispered in his ear,
"gather then to me
the Vale of Shernai."



PEGASUS by Right (4)

'tis said a horse cannot look straight ahead,
but both eyes did and more,
and I understood a conversation,
nay a conspiritation was afoot;
for all the leaves were atremble
and the fountain frozen
in mid-spray.

I know not who or what enjoined
to help decide a path or course
to meet this challenge --
those drawn through curiosity …
not of the Vale,
but of how I knew.

The fountain pulsed again,
and echoed in light and chimes --
words formed within my mind,
quivering -- caressing --
a voice more feminine …
yet not a single voice,
nor voice at all.

"we will go as you enthrall,
as Pegasus cannot go alone,
nor thee as known afore.

Long have we waited for permission,
now gifted by thy charge and will …"


I did not know what to make of this,
but sensed this journey quest
might take a span of when,
and closed my eyes in time to see
an unfolding of nether wings --
and I understood that Pegasus
only appeared to glow --
protecting me from the glare
of a portal from which shone …
well that's another story.

I would tell you now what I know
of Shernai ..
that I may prepare.


Pegasus by Right (5)

The Vale of Shernai

i do not know why I am telling of this,
or why you should believe,
for I do not -- believe that is --
but surely know …
and what else am I fore
but to see things of wonder
and share in simple ways?

trouble is -- is not simple,
nor a trouble really --
except that I will fail in the telling,
for I lack the notes to sing the song,
and colors too few,
and reach too short,
and passions but a trace of love.

but, then as now and hurry,
if you do not attend to this story,
nor draw from it worth and mirth,
it is not my spirit that will tremble
in the balance …
so choose! to continue or nay.

WARNING -- to go here is to never return!

All right! I begin.

i found him in a tree --
part of him at any rate and 'him' is but a guess.
he was not 'in the tree'
like kids stealing apples or kisses,
but one with the tree -- sort of --
only his torso was free,
except for one hand of which he had four,
and his lower parts were, well --
still merged of the tree -- naturally.

it seemed a perfect fit,
with no pain or physical rejection,
beyond his wishing to be free, of course --

he asked if i could help a bit,
which perhaps I could,
knowing I probably wouldn't see him
if i were not of the answer,
or a prayer --
perhaps i exist soas to be there,
and did and was.

so, I told him how to free himself,
and in return, since I had not asked
for boon nor pledge nor gift,
he told me a story --
better than this one sure …
the best he had to give.

He told me of
the Vale of Shernai,
and then went off to find a friend,
the reason he had come --
a silver wisp of angel
that might look like a horse to me,
but then he looked like a gnome to me,
and wasn't --

but I am drifting into other stories,
and you already know of such things --
mythical steeds, and angels,
and shape shifters and those who
drift the ether waves ..
so I will tell you of the Vale
which I have never seen,
nor had he except by accident --
'cept his 'where' aim isn't very good
judging by his marriage with a tree.

see, I can get quickly to the point.
no one can go there!

by chance or folly, my friend arrived
a whinkle ahead of his physical shell,
which is good because everything in the Vale
is poisonous and biologically sterile
by the standards of our feeble attention --
and he wisely chose to bounce
instead of discorporate,
but had glimpses enough
to be of it forever …
and now it comes to me --
and I will be of it too,
by the gifted trust of the silver one,
"ap'egal'sis" be known to thee.


Pegasus by Right (6)

My gallant stallion returned --
not that he had actually gone, or ever was --
here I mean, since where I am now
in feeble form and spirit
is not where I was before,
and because of this experience
I am not now what I was then --
but I promised a story, not idle musing …

Start again!
Pegasus and I were again entranced
in the same proximity and focus of
attention. So there!

The enticing rustle of whisper leaves
was gone -- but not so she,
who was now mounted atop the steed.
You may imagine, if you wish or need,
a warrior maiden with golden hair,
bridleless save twists of braided mane,
singing a melody meant for me alone --

but I saw more of a pulsing thistle down,
blended amber above and within
a silver cloud of shifting form
that resembled perhaps a horse
more than else --
and was only feminine in voice
and kindness
now.

They were weary, I sensed --
understanding that what was moments
for me and thee and even now
might have been much more of when,
and they actually chose to return yesterday
soas not to encumber me.

The fountain rippled once again
and chimed within my soul --
"ap'egal'sis" cannot do this alone,
nor any but by common join and be,
yet you have allowed this
and other have pledged the quest
that all may perceive the Vale."

I was awash with dancing light,
foreto behold a vision -- nay a plan,
by which the Vale could be known
with goal of shown to me
and bound in future memory.

For no vibration of be --
bound even slightly
to the clutch of physiography,
can survive within the quested Vale
but for a shiver or bold reality --
measure in the dance of quanta.

For this task will serve by choice.
three filled thrice volunteers
to dive as swallows into the seething mists
and catch a blink of grandeur;
returning to breath and heal
and swoop again in joy!

My Pegasus would not take them there,
but would guide and protect their return.
My faerie princess was now an admiral
of forces by my ready count
of 19,683 flights of will and pride,
who would suffer and nearly perish
that a dream would be bound
and promise kept.

Could I have retracted my whimsy
I do not know -- and was not tested,
for this release of the Vale of Shernai
had gained the fond attention
of stars in nova prance
and seeds waiting to be born,
and would not be denied --
again!

Pegasus by Right (7)


"I cannot believe in what you reveal,"
said I in patient musing,
"for there is not yet a witnessing
to sustain what I surely know."

"so that then is the hidden quest,
our champion's dream to unfold,"
she chime-tinkled in mirth and dance.
"all seekers wish to distill
knowing from believing,
and you would strive for something
less and more in yearning."

Then I came to understand
what I had begun by this entrancement --
that to know something of wonder
is without meaning or worth
unless shared with others
that they might believe --
or find a seed of dream.

Pegasus now reclined before me,
expecting more -- waiting,
for he is of a journey
after all.

What then, did I know so profoundly?
Simply that a place existed
in divine trusted certainty,
that might be claimed "most beautiful"
of all scenes of comprehension
within the balance of agreement
called humanity.

I did not have to see it to believe,
and no amount of believing
could enhance my soul fed knowledge.
It was my faith that such knowing
could engender awe and mirth in others
that called forth the Pegasus of dreams.

"Then let it be done," I cried;
"but not for me, but all."

The shimmering form of steed and maid
were but shadows against the portal light,
yet had they not protected me
I may have been consumed or drawn in --
I am not sure,
and cannot describe how I chose
to remain --
for in this bold jest I was correct,
and of this flight of Pegasus
I could not return,
and might never have been at all.

"You do not wish to see it then --
this panorama so enticing that
the ether now trembles
with the ripples of your request?"

"It was never for me," I whispered.
"There is one whose dreams you surely know --
the girl next door,
my friend Alicia who laughs at my
attempts to sing to the flowers.
I have tried to make her know of flowers
and many things her blind eyes cannot behold,
and somehow she believes --
in me."

Once again and on and in
there were many shapes and forms
prancing just out of sight and wonder,
and I knew then also that of this
Pegasus as a focus of everbeen.

I then spoke of what I had planned
all along -- what Pegasus must have sensed,
but somehow needed for me to invoke
the power of the words.

"When the collage of splendid wonder
is finally painted of the magick points
of vision and sacrifice of Shernai --
pray give it her as is her right --
and pray withhold my name,
for it is her love and trust
that brings us here,
in faith."


Pegasus by Right(8)

She was seated in a wingback chair,
fitting perhaps as I would learn,
but planned by her to swing her arms
in gesturing and applause
for what she scarcely hid within
of secret joy and expectation.

"Come -- come and sit beside me,"
she giggled in such innocence,
auburn curls and 'die for' lashes
an easy distraction from withered legs
and trailing tubes and prison bed.
She now accepted my presence --
far cry from a soft beginning
of sing along with my whistled tunes
outside her window sill.

Her tightly sealed never eyes
beheld me all too well and kind.
Oh, that I were as gallant and fair
as she would have me by fast will --
I - I who but told fun stories
and pretended to dance with her
in the golden sunbeams
of lost youth.

"I have had a dream," she whispered,
"or it has certainly captured me --
yet not a dream at all -- or vision;
but more of a viewing as on a TV screen
such as you have described.

No, no! More like a waterfall
of ever changing flowers which you love
so well and bring me often
to feel and taste and smell."

Her hands painted pictures of delight
to accentuate in frenetics
that which her halting speech
failed to express in pace
with child's heart and ancient spirit
beyond the ken
of simple men.

And I listened to her tale --
her magic dream revealed …
and will tell you of it best I can.

"There is a world," she murmured,
with shaping hands and hesitation,
as if I might not believe;
but then galloping on past
rills and furrows
of remembered thrills
and color.

"Yes," she squealed --
"I understand color now,
and am no longer afraid of lonely --
for I remember every flower,
and gypsy dress swirl,
and sunset you have ever shared.

I must let you see it too --
the world, the place -- the valley."

Pegasus by Right (9)

There is no way to relate this telling,
without you seeing the flying, sculpting hands --
radiant apple cheeks and lily throat
pulsing with laughter above
a foam of bluish lace and folds of scarlet robe.

Alicia's mother and sister stood silent --
caught up in awe and trembling surprise,
though I had told them
that she was to tell us a story
of the color of joy.

I will simply list the factual points --
a description of what and was,
as best interpreted and flavored by my senses;
and let you fill in the emotions
and colors of the dream --
the knowing of Shernai.

It is the only world tossed between two suns such that its shades of light are always changing, caught in perpetual bright gloaming.
These stars are so far distant that their glow has not yet reached our earth.


The planet has five moons, which insure that the world's surface is never at rest, nor the days the same length, nor any atmosphere left.


The Vale is a deep rift in the center of many volcanoes which draw up an ever changing mixture of chemical soup from the planet's core.


These flows merge into six streams, that with the blending produce mixtures, compounds and molecules in endless clashes, explosions and fury.


These merge again just above the Vale into three conjoined sources of pulsing rainbow hued magma and swirling eyes of energy.


Then they fall -- pouring over the stone lip in ribbons thousands of feet high into an angry pool below.


Every twist and wave of seething movement produces a different color, some perhaps never seen on Earth.


As the moons align in different patterns above and on, the ribbons interact in tune -- even braiding and marrying in the void --forming anew chemical bonds and release of energy. As the cataracts strike the pool and rocks below, crystal spires form and shoot upward with shocking speed.


Within seconds, faerie castles build and grow with millions of facets of reflected color dance. Then they exceed the gravity balance between world and moons to collapse and dissolve into jeweled mists to be captured by the waiting moons.


Yes, the heavens there are filled with faerie dust that swirls away to the suns like veils of a dancing goddess, that caress the moons in passing in an endless symphony of creation.

I came to understand the measure
of this place and quest and prayer.

There is in Shernai nothing that is not
of color and motion and creation.
To be there for even a wink of time
would corrode and devour my body
in chemical fury most sure …

but the draw on soul and spirit
would surly shatter the frail bond
of human attention and vibration.

I have seen here on Earth
that which I might entrance as
"the Breath of God" --


but now know that I would not survive
touching the very engine --
"the Heart of God!"

Only on the pallet of an innocent child,
blind to the harsh realities of our world,
can we see …

and I would ask --
when you call forth Pegasus
and are asked to choose a journey --
where else is there to go
but to be a child again?

........................................

fini

copyright Sakin'el 2005






Thursday, October 20, 2005

Flight of Fancy

Well another day has gone and I was just about giving up on the Raven Courier service to send me a ticket and just then a knock at the front door.....

I called out "The keys in the door,just let yourself in"

I always leave the key in the door, habit I inherited from my Mother Jessie. Little did I know, who or what it was at the door otherwise I would not have called out so loudly from the back of the house .

When I did open the old wooden door, sitting on the blue stone step was an envelope ... Bright white with a black raven stamped on the front , clear as clear, no advertising needed... I knew what it was.

I opened it very carefully, wanting to keep it for my future album of the trip ...and inside was a beautifully hand drawn invitation ... I thought to myself ... The artist in le Enchanteur is going ahead in leaps and bounds.....

I have a date, a time, a welcome, and directions in case I become disorientated on the flight ... not that Pegasus will, but I am apt to panic a bit as my sense of direction has never been good, point me North I am ok but ask me to go North and as sure as sure I will go West.... I need a compass sewn into my body somewhere(No suggestions thank you)

A good nights sleep as I am off tomorrow, will see you all there.

Lois (Muse of the Sea) 21/10/05..
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PS. I am treating this trip as a special birthday gift to myself.
in 2006 - 18-10-1936 -18-10-2006 I will be 70.
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I only hope there will be a very special trip next year as I will be ready for it... This 2005 trip is just a practice run for me.
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