A Ritual of Three: A Magic for Happy, Revitalized Spirits
An opening of our ritual minds: I am ready for magic to be done upon me. Hear that, all you good witches of the world?…
Tag: extreme waxing poetic
The Strid
It would be a dangerous thing. Dangerous in that it would convince me, perhaps convince others who might take me as an object lesson, that…
Amateur Paleontology
But when what was was up and running, when there was blood and friction and motion to its form, we didn’t think about the skeletal. Nor the physical laws, the carbon dating that would explain what it was about us that was worthy of eons of study. We were in the thick of it.
And the Sun Burns Into Your Eyes
Those hopes to exist without risk, without presence or engagement, or bearing the weight of being the object in the lesson, they’re actually as unhelpful as a bathing suit in a blizzard. Because this isn’t that kind of life. As painful as the change thus far has been, it is not even the beginning of it.
Artemis
This is a girl who could be mistaken for another girl and not as she is, a keeper of shadow and goblin-teeth.
The Red X
After what feels like hours of waiting, it finally drops anchor and all of the pirates jump over the the hull and swing ropes onto shore. The dancers emerge and guide them up off the beach and in the rough-hewn, thatched-roof cantina, we drink with them and listen to their adventures. Their hungers, their thirsts, their old shanty songs and we take notes. They don’t mind us eavesdropping, not so long as we let them dance with the dancers and drink all the mead.
Astrid v. Mildred
You should be there. Naturally? I should be there, too. Making something, some salad dressing in a bowl. Easy, but requiring attentiveness, ratios, science, purpose. The fork would scrape in the wooden bowl as I emulsify the oil. It’d be near suppertime, but before that scramble to get everything set on the table. You’d be reading, still, in another world but contented to have your body in this one, unbothered.