Reflections

One Year; 365 days. That's how long it has been since I first drove across Bellingham's borders. A lot has changed, nothing has changed, such is the way of things.

I can safely say I love Bellingham. Perhaps not the town so much, but the land. On weekends, after a few lazy hours of coffee and reading and cat snuggles, I seek out the woods, the mountains, the lakes. I have yet to find a hiking trail or footpath that doesn't fill me with wonder, that doesn't end with me trudging back to my car hours later feeling vibrant, rich with rejuvenation.

I do occasionally venture away from nature. Now and then I treat myself to a movie at the local Pickford Theater or Limelight Cinema. I've begun volunteering at the local Mount Baker Theater – ushering - just 1-2 events a month. It's a nice way to experience the culture around me, and I get to enjoy part (if not all of) of the shows I work for free. I've checked out a book club at the local Village Books bookstore, and might be starting a new one with some co-workers. I am trying to become better about seeking new experiences, new moments, savoring them as one does when they walk along a winter beach picking up soft, smooth sea stones to turn around and hold in their hands. 

Of course nothing is perfect, and many of my past worries have followed me here. I do not think they will ever truly fade. My most persistent and vicious fears have to do money. Someone told me once my anxiety over money is much greater than most peoples. I have a hard time understanding that, but then isn’t that how anxiety normally works? Finding an affordable, cat-friendly apartment has proved impossible so far, so I am still living in the same place. Since I have stayed so long, my landlady has given me another small break in the rent. It’s still not as little as I’d like, but I’m not losing money each month, nor saving. I’m breaking even. 

I am learning how to wind my worries around a core of gratefulness. I am most successful at this in the mornings, when I wake to Faelina purring in my arms and then sit up to a view that never fails to stun me. It doesn't matter if I am greeted with pure blue skies, or misty pearls shimmering over the islands, or pure, total gray, it is always beautiful. Birds are everywhere. Eagles and seagulls and crows soar past the window. Cormorants by the hundreds line the old, abandoned structures of the bay. I’ve seen herons, and ducks of all varieties, and a pair of mating ospreys guarding their nest. In the winter- a lone Loon balancing atop the waves and then diving repeatedly under them. Every now and then a seal bobs cheerfully past. Close to the house, there are sparrows and starlings and hummingbirds – usually Anna’s - in the yard. This past summer has brought dozens of bunnies, and both Faelina and I have enjoyed observing as they dart to and fro across the yard, pretend to attack each other, then nibble carelessly along the grass. And I still love the trains that rumble by, perpetual travelers, shouting promises of adventure.

My job is decent, and I am glad to have found it, that it has allowed me to stay in Bellingham. That being said it doesn't tie in what I am most passionate about. The environment, women's rights, ending the persistent and systemic racism that still exists in our country, helping the thousands of people around the world who are really, truly suffering...it tackles none of that. And it doesn't make me feel truly alive, not like I do when I am creating something that before only existed in the invisible worlds around us. I am in the process of questioning myself, about why I'm not striving more towards the those things, and just how long I can continue not to. 

 And of course, no matter how thrilled I am to be living where I do, I am shredded every second by my longing for home. The fact that I am not there to see my nephews and niece grow is a fact that is harder to make peace with each passing day. I said here once, that I would forever hate myself for choosing Washington over them, and that is true. I deal with that guilt and inner hatred always.

But life is a balance.

Last night I went walking around Lake Padden. The sky was thick with the cool wetness that accompanies a day of hard rain. Those gray drops had passed hours before though, giving way to a pale, comforting blue light. The wind was quiet, lake waters calm. Families wrapped up a day of swimming, runners darted past finally free from days chained to their desk, children laughed delightedly between playgrounds, and out on the docks lone fishers stood, reeling in their lines as a horizon would the setting sun. The towering trees were soothing, their vibrant moss cloaks magical. I watched a silent Heron through a leafy frame, it's peaceful spirit rippling in the air around it. Chickadees flittered gaily between pine needled branches, chattering all the while. A Brown Creeper skittered and spiraled around a tree. And, after months of searching into to the farthest corners of the tallest trees, I stumbled into a Pileated Woodpecker intently searching for food on a short tree stump a mere 15 feet away. In a life rife with imperfections, last evening I walked into a rare, perfect moment.

I am lucky, I am stumbling, I am sometimes miserable, I am sometimes glowing. I am growing. I am grateful. I am scared. I am breathing. I have no clue what I am doing. I am learning to be ok with that. A year from now I might still be in Bellingham. Or tomorrow I might wake and realize I can no longer ignore the beckoning trains. Time will tell; I'll keep you posted.

~*~*~

Poem for a Good Day

My day in poem form. It's not such a good poem (or picture), but it was a good day, which is more important. 

~*~

Osprey standing guard against the waves

A few strands of white sitting sharp amongst the brown

Age is only time dancing

A mountain startled by the sun

Herons floating towards a crescent moon

Pink and periwinkle skies

Serenaded by the songs of everything

~*~

Trails of Fire

It's been awhile since I shared some creative writing, so I figured I'd post this. It was born out of real life; however, whether it was an event I experienced, or something that happened to someone I know, or was inspired by a passerby or poster on the street...well, I'll leave that up to you. Love it, hate it, make of it what you will.

~*~*~

The butterflies of worry are skipping rope, and time is dangling from an ever-shrinking road. Nerves and the jittery expectation that something will go wrong, give way to the devastating acceptance that it has. The sinking swirl of these bitter emotions seem to hold sway over the air itself, for as seconds slip away too fast for time, the clouds remember they have held too long, the tears so many of us refuse to let show. They let them all fall then, cloaked in the costume of rain; quiet screams sent to kill the ground.

Then comes fear. A cold, wormy possibility that it has all been for naught, a wasted courage. That the joyful anticipation that’s being singing to you for months was really only cruel apparition. Time turns from a quiet roar to a full out scream, and you dash up - fall sideways - zig when you should have skipped - turn around and around in a sacred circle you didn’t even know you were in. A reprieve…but it’s brief and mixed with a vicious angst and song, almost negating it’s numbing balm of relief. Still, you can’t help but let yourself feel embraced by the sweet blur of brown and blue and calm responsibility that no longer rests entirely on your shoulders.And hope, always hope. 

But time has now almost reached that uncrossable line.

So run girl, run girl, run girl, fly. Float above the crowd. Take that wind sending magic through your hair and use it to give you the speed to push those heels – flip, pip, flipping – along the pavement into a flying soar. Move up that hill on legs that know nothing of impossibility, let your eyes gleam in the golden light of your goal so close before you. One brief barrier and at last you are through....

and stepping into a labyrinthine world of chaos and jewels and vaudevillian delights. Lights flicker and glow and shine. Every delight prickling along your skin. Screaming, laughter, painted minds, faces twisted into anathemas of sadness. Souls drawn inexplicably towards a firestorm of reality and art - an icon of magnificence. A phoenix who has called out each of our names, and we have all come running, dancing in on her trails of fire.

~*~*~

A Letter to My Niece

Little Harlow,

Welcome to life! I am so excited that you are finally here. When you were less than an hour old, your mom and dad called me and I got saw your tiny, real face for the first time. I felt tears of joy form then, and they lingered in my eyes for days afterward. I knew in that moment that I had to see you as soon as possible, that I had to return home sooner than planned. So I did, and when I first held you, I was overwhelmed with awe at your every perfection. I was also so grateful that you actually let me hold you – unlike your brother when he was a new baby!

~*~

Three years ago, I wrote a letter to your brother and cousin right after they were born. In it I shared my wishes and dreams for them, my hopes for their life, and, though meager, wisdom. Everything in that letter I want for you as well. I want you to know by heart all the words and songs of your favorite movies. I want you to be excited for bed on Friday nights, because you know that when you wake on Saturday an entire table of syrupy pancakes and blueberry muffins will be waiting for you. I want you to witness the fathomless peace that comes over you when you wake to find a kitten curled up in your arms, it's whispery purr rumbling from your head to your toes. To swim in the limitless spirit that floods you when surrounded by a desert's song.

I hope that the brightness of your spirit will outshine the greatest dark this world tries to throw at you. That you know oceans of love and joy and peace. That in those waters only the faintest and most minor droplets of pain and sadness land upon you. And speaking of oceans; it is my fervent wish that you will get to travel through all of them, and with gleeful anticipation step foot in every country and continent you desire to explore. I dream that, amidst the chaos and uncertainty of our troubled, beautiful world, you are able to find a true home. A place that makes you feel complete, whole - the way I do when I breathe in the air of Alaska.

Something else I shared with Tanner and David were the words “Follow Your Bliss", a missive first spoken by your Grandpa Berg. In the volume and routine of daily life, it is a mission so easily lost, and yet I believe it is so important to each person that they do seek out their own vision of bliss. There is another reason why so many people do not follow their soul's poem - it is not an easy path. It is hard, and scary and full of treacherous, vicious thoughts. So many people hold back from their dreams because of those thoughts, because they allow the initial flickerings of doubt to erupt so high that they drop their plans like forgotten pennies on the pavement. 

Create the courage to be different. To learn to let yourself grow used to, and live with, fear. It is OK to be afraid, that’s part of what makes you human, but it is vital that you talk back to your fear whenever it dares dissuade you. Ask it questions, uncover it’s loopholes and weak spots. Find them and you'll be able to climb through every obstacle thrown at you, with a rare freedom waiting for you on the other side. It will be so hard to do this at first, crushing to a point that it will feel impossible. It isn't though, and the more you fight back, the easier it will become to keep fighting.

I also pray that you grow up to define yourself by your soul, and not your body. While you are physically beautiful, that is not all you are. Not even close. We live in a world that, regrettably, tries to judge women by how they look and dress, what color their hair and eyes are, whether they’re too much or too little of something, honing in on a number on a scale. These cruel judgments of the world are not important and I want you fling them away from you as far as possible. 

So when you watch the movies of Disney princesses don't just notice their beauty, but their inner power as well. Belle’s bravery, Merida’s fierceness, Cinderella’s kindness to animals. Then go learn about the real life princesses  - the warrior ones – Zenobia and Boudicca. Read the stories of women who did not smother their truths at the request of others, nor let talk of 'a men’s world' keep them from diving into science and politics and adventure - Marie Curie and Queen Elizabeth I, Sally Ride and Nellie Bly. Place importance on the tales of women who aided others, knowing that those actions jeopardized their very lives - Sojurner Truth and Harriet Tubman and Malala Yousafza. Soak up the stories of these women - and countless others - and let them inspire you to find the story of your life that you need to be told.  

I look forward so much to seeing you grow. To watch as you navigate the complexities of siblinghood, and parent's rules. To being part of the support system that helps you discover which pathways and rivers you want to travel down. I am eager to know the sound of your laughter, to witness the way your eyes light up at the sight of the tree on Christmas morning, and to share in your joy as you discover the pure magic that is Harry Potter. I can't wait to watch you discover the miracle of worlds that exist between the covers of books, and to whisk you away on coffee dates and trips to the movies. And when you are playing sports or dancing or singing or taking part in spelling bees or math competitions, I will always be cheering you on, perhaps not always in person, but absolutely in spirit.

Finally, let your own, unique powers glow and give yourself free reign to be wild or calm, silly or serious, loud or quiet, to be all of these and everything in between if that is what you desire. Dictate to the world who you will be, not the other way around.

*~*

Dear Harlow, when I first learned of your coming, it was as I walked through a forest of tall, ancient trees. I celebrated your new existence within a sea of old ones. I loved you entirely then. I love you infinitely more now. I always will.

          - Aunt Kelly (Kiki)

~*~*~

Faelina's Reads - 2018 Top 10(ish)

This year, more than any other in my adult life, I made reading a priority. Perhaps THE priority would be the more accurate way to phrase it. In the mornings before work, during work breaks, while eating dinner, and in the precious last minutes before falling asleep, I have been reading. I've done little else. I have also - thanks to some nudging from a favorite podcast - begun listening to audiobooks once more. For years, I'd been unable to focus on stories spoken unless I'd already read the books themselves before. Thankfully that problem has passed.

All told, adding up every novel, novella, audiobook and middle grade chapter story I have read 212 books this year. Mostly it's been fiction, and usually the story is seeped in either sci-fi or fantasy though there have been a decent number of memoirs and random other non-fictions sprinkled in. I tend to read books dipped - if not drenched - in darkness, but every once in awhile I sought out something light. The longest book I've read was 746 pages, the shortest about 130. Michelle Obama's 'Becoming' was the audiobook that logged in the most hours at just over 19, and the shortest audio story didn't even reach three. I have loved many, enjoyed dozens more, and disliked others so much that I really should have just stopped reading them. I even managed to sneak in a few re-reads: 'Tithe' by Holly Black, 'Furiously Happy' by the wonderful Jenny Lawson, the impossibly beautiful 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn' by Betty Smith, and a childhood favorite 'The Boggart' by Susan Cooper.

One of the few regrets I do have for 2018 is that I didn't write about more of them here on this blog. Sure I did with a couple, but there were so, so many others that I would have loved to let people know about. I feel almost like I've let those stories down by not spreading word of their greatness! So I've started a new Faelina's Reads Instagram account which will hopefully spur me into more writing next year. As for 2018, I've narrowed it down to my Top 10(ish) favorites of the year (re-reads not considered):

1. Some Kind of Fairy Tale - Graham Joyce

It’s Christmas night and a daughter appears on her parent’s doorstep after having been missing for 20 years.  She was with the faeries, she says, and for her only 6 months had. An impossible truth, yet her family cannot deny that she does not look a day older than 16. I read this book at the beginning of of the year and I still think of it almost every day. It’s filled with sadness, heartache, the deep relentless longing that exists in the hearts of us who so desperately search for magic around each and every corner. I spend every day hoping I will find this tale's forest of bluebells.

2. The Power - Naomi Alderman

This held the place of my favorite book of 2018 for most of the year, and it definitely is my favorite audio book out of the 100 I’ve listened too. Set in a near-ish future; women and girls everywhere suddenly develop the ability to cause physical pain to men, the result of a new muscle that is wrapped around every female’s collar bone. It is a vast and shocking story about what happens when the rules are abruptly changed and women rule the world. How quickly cruel women can be toward their old oppressors, have angry and hateful men become against their usurpers. A very rich and dark tale, the narrator does a phenomenal job of giving a voice to each character – whether they be from America, England, Africa or Russia. I love, love, loved this book and think everyone should read it.  

3. Hunger - Roxanne Gay
Hunger is one of those books that I think every person on the planet should read, but most especially every woman. It’s a memoir, the story of Gay’s lifelong battle with food and obesity; of how her war began after she was gang raped at the age of 12. Most of her life has been different from mine in every possible way. I haven’t experienced her trauma, I’ve never been obese, and she has a relationship with food that gives my anorexic mind nightmares. But even so, there were so many lines of the book I would swear had been ripped straight from my mind. We as a culture need more books like these, so that hopefully, one day, we will can truly start seeing souls instead of bodies. Definite trigger warnings for rape and eating disorders.  

4. Into the Drowning Deep/Feed - Mira Grant
Try as I might I just cannot figure out which of these two books I love more. Into the Drowning Deep has a rich luscious horror that lurks around the edges of each page, and drags you swimming down into the ocean depths where carnivorous mermaids sing. It’s beautiful and terrifying and I want so badly for it all to be true. Feed (the first of the NewsFlesh trilogy) is a story I shouldn’t like because it’s about zombies, and I hate the whole zombie genre. But it is SO GOOD; absorbing, fast paced, and full of surprises that will make you sit back stunned. I became a bit of a zombie myself with this trilogy, constantly wanting more, more, more of the story and characters within the pages. I am so grateful I discovered Mira Grant's works this year, and for any fans of the horror/fantasy genre I cannot recommend these books enough!

5. Every Heart a Doorway - Seanan McGuire

Sometimes in our world, there are doors that appear in the most inexplicable ways and impossible places. They appear to the children who know deep in their souls that they don’t belong on this earth. By daring to step through the door in front of them, that child then enters the world that speaks to the deepest dreams and desires of their heart. A world that is logic or nonsense, virtue or wicked. If the child is lucky they stay there forever, but sometimes, sometimes the child is forced to return to our world. This book – and subsequent series – is about those children. The ones who bereft and lost, spend every single second of their existence searching and hoping for their door to once more appear. For some it does. For others it never will. I loved this story with my entire heart.  

6. Welcome to Borderland - Multiple Authors

This book is the latest in a series of publications dating back to 1986, thanks to the wondrous minds of Mark Alan Arnold and Terri Windling, In this crazy magical reality, the border to Elfland has returned and lives in clear view with the world as we know it. Only the presence of that much magic has created a rift in the scientific rules and laws that govern planet earth. A certain part of the land can't handle technology; it can't always manage magic either. Bordertown comes out of it. A precarious magical city surrounded by the even more unpredictable Borderlands. Elfs and humans live and interact with either. Music creates dancing colors in the sky. Curses will turn men into wolves. Coffee is treasured more than gold. I am addicted to reading these stories. Captivated while lost inside them, I become shaky and desperate for more the second the last sentence ends. There are 8 books in the series. I've been lucky enough to lay my hands on 5. Unfortunately, the first three books are no longer in print. I've found one, but if anyone out there happens to run across a copy of Bordertown and/or Life on the Border please buy it for me. I will pay you back!

7. The Library at Mount Char -- Scott Hawkins

This is one of the darkest books I've read this year, but out from it's midnight home shines a brilliantly crafted tale. Carolyn is our telescope into the world, and right from the start we learn that things are not all sunshine and roses. There's blood on her dress, one of her brother's is the embodiment of war, another sister is dead - though not for long, and the man they call Father is missing. In all there are 12; children they were when Father rescued them from a disaster in which all their parents and family were killed. To each young child he assigned a Library catalog, one in which they were to study and become and never, ever share with anyone. War, Language, Mathematics, Animal, Possible Futures, Healing, the Land Beyond Death. To ensure their strict adherence to his tutelage he inflicts some of the cruelest lessons and punishments imaginable. But then one day he's gone missing and the 12 now adults are anxious to learn why. So they embark on a quest. One that brings the quiet normal  outside world their Library doors. One that almost destroys a universe. There are trigger warnings for just about every possible imaginable thing in this book, but if you think you can handle that then I highly recommend it. I did not want to leave this story behind.

8. The Art of Asking - Amanda Palmer

I wrote about this memoir shortly upon arriving in Washington. Since this post is already too long, I won't go into much detail about it again. Suffice it to say, that I loved listening to Amanda's story. I now listen to her music regularly, follow her on Instagram, and became a supporting member of her patreon (something I've never done for anyone/thing else before). She's amazing, wild, free, and fierce in her desire to create a better world through her art. Go listen to it now!

9. Beartown/Us Against You - Fredrik Backman

This was a last minute list maker. Originally this spot had been allotted to A Man Called Ove, Backman's incredibly sweet, heartening story of an old man whose inability to tolerate fools is about to face his biggest fool invasion yet. But then I decided to close out the year with Us Against You, the sequel to Backman's Beartown, and I realized that Beartown is truly the book that holds my heart. The tale of a frozen town whose heart and dreams are focused entirely on it's hockey club, Beartown and it's inhabitants wrecked me; gutted me so completely, I felt destroyed. Emotionally devastated. But I loved them so deeply. In the past when a book has made me cry, it has always only been when the book was directly in front of me; not when I was driving down the highway, nor too walking through the rain soaked woods. I did just that with theses ones though. Twenty years from now I know I will still be thinking of the characters; wondering what happened to them, what else they've been through, hoping against hope that they found happiness. I will always be rooting for Beartown.        

10. Lilith's Brood - Octavia Butler

Without a shadow of a doubt my number one favorite book of 2018. Before January I'd never even heard of Octavia Bulter. Now in December, I've devoured 6 of her books and she is one of my most beloved authors. Technically Lilith's Brood is made of of three novels Butler published back in the 1980's - Dawn, Adulthood Rights, and Imago. I don't even really know how to describe it. There are aliens, other planets, living spaceships, the knowledge that the earth as we know it today no longer exists (though we never get the complete story as to why). Weird is an understatement. Magnificent is too. Her world building is phenomenal and the creation of characters inspiring. When I reached the final page I looked up and knew something in me had forever changed. This book will change you too.

*~*

So that's it. There truly are so many others. Colson Whitehead and the shockingly real way he depicts the world. Victor Lavalle whose writing is so crisp and sharp you'd think it would contrast horribly with the impossible magic of his stories - only it doesn't. Franny Billingsly and her tinkling delightful way with words. Margaret Atwood - the writer I think I'd most aspire to be - with her stories that are ageless pearls, clear cut diamonds. Gillian Flynn's cutthroat depictions of the darker side of our souls. And the voice of Toni Morrison narrate her story 'Home' in a voice that sounds like hot maple syrup being poured over fresh pancakes on a Sunday morning.

If anyone wants to know more about the other books I've read this year, and what I thought about them, you can check out my Goodreads page here. If anyone has read the books I've listed, I would love to get your thoughts/opinions. If there is one thing I love as much as reading books, it's talking about them with fellow readers! Also, let me know if there are certain books you think I should read. Ok, that's all for now; thank you to anyone who lasted all the way through this post. I'm off to go read, and hopefully you are too!

*~*~*

Sunset Healing

Sunsets. Bellingham - like all places - has them, and since my arrival I have been graced with many that bordered on re-defining beautiful. There is one though, perhaps a month back, that gave me greater notice than all others. It was as though the sky and the bay waters aligned, grasping the day's wane as close to their chests as possible in the hopes of postponing the inevitable twilight; the way a person approaching the end of the best day of their life struggles to avoid midnight.The result was the changing of bay waters to shimmering purples, pinks and blues so rich I saw dragon scales. And if the waters were dragons, the red ranging sky was their fire. Shadows of darkest blue rippled through the waters, swimming and swirling themselves into such magnificent patterns, my breath almost forgot itself.

That night, long after the sunset had fallen to night's forceful power and I myself had fallen into dreams, I woke. It was pre-dawn. The sky and water were a dark black ink. Had the weather or hour been different, this particular waking might have fled permanent memory. But the it was almost as though the universe had  itself whispered for me to wake, because the air was clear and the full moon the only thing reigning. I saw it, right before me, bright and shimmering like a pearl that had just been dipped in gold. It's magnificent light poured out into the water, turning the soft waves into stories of deepest mystery. My breath forgot itself again, and when it returned that was when I realized - I am healing.

~*~

I shut down in Utah. I didn't realize it at the time of course. I knew I wasn't super happy, but I got to work everyday, laughed with my coworkers, had fun with Steph when our schedules allowed for it, and read a lot of incredible books. I knew from therapy that I had some minor depression, and greater than minor but not massive anxiety, but I'd had that in Maine as well (a place I achingly love) so I didn't connect those emotions with my geographical location. Now I know better.

I may have functioned like a semi-responsible adult, but I had no thirst for adventure and spontaneity was a stranger to my world. Any attempt I made to pull myself out of melancholy evaporated quicker than a desert's morning dew. When I left Maine, I wanted a place out west with mountains, and there is no denying that Utah met both those requirements. But I learned the hard way that they were not enough; I also need a place that doesn't confine thoughts to a boxed set of rules; I need a place that is wild.

~*~

I've said it before and will again - I don't regret moving to Utah. Nor am I saying that now I've moved my life is perfect. Far, far from it. I still have anxiety. I'm still living with an eating disordered voice in my head. I didn't land my dream job, nor is my current living situation ideal (though the view is hard to beat). The city I'm in isn't flawless, nor do I envision myself ever finding it so. I could go on but I think I've made my point.

What I am saying, is I'm back in a place which provides me freedom to think in magic, and that, combined with what I've learned about myself by moving here has shifted the balance of my spirit. It is no longer shrinking, but blooming, dissolving the deep wounds it's suffered these past years.  I'm better able to breath in joy and jump at possibility of adventure. I've still a long way to go to get back to myself, but I'm headed in the right direction and it is a wondrous path to be on!

~*~*~

Rain Writings

Perhaps I wrote this, inspired by the water drenched, gray windows I woke up to this morning. Or perhaps this was told to me, word for word, by someone I met in a doorway where no doorway should have been. I'll let you decided.

~*~

The fae be angry today.

Raindrops scatter against my window, racing each other t'wards a finish line only they can see. Together they paint over the outside world, leavin' me only witness whispers of the white capped waves just past the pane. It be better that way.

Safe inside, I wonder what 'tis that's riled the old ones so; throwing down dark clouds to smash against our world the way they do. We, too busy hiding inside 'neath our dry, warm blankets or scurryin' about 'neath muddy umbrella caps, aren't looking up. Let me tell you, it ain't no coincidence those plastic caps be shaped like mushrooms. No. We not meant to see the white wings flutterin' crazy like a hurricane's scream. An' our ears be formed so as not to know the gusts of wind for what they truly be, bellows of rage. So foolish we are, an' always have been.

What has happened, I wonder. Be it a rift in their court or a cut in the earth? Either one will set them stormin'; anger so hot in their blood the world must turn to icen mist less we all taste flames. They will settle, I be sure like the thousands wars afore this one. Without even a pinprick of awareness on our mortal skins o'course. Yet my heart can't help but lie with the cold, wrapped 'round the knowledge that, dagger like, our fates are held in their hands an' all lives could cease should they choose to continue this destruction.

Perhaps it be best we don't. Know the reason for the drops I mean. Human souls lack strength enough to bear the weight of such wild magic. We like our worlds to be packaged, bundled 'round safe beliefs an' ideals. We cling an' clasp to the concept of truth an' cannot grasp that what truth be lacking is existence. Our world is a spirit of a different sort. Chaos; unbridled an' entire. Truth be a false word.

The fae know this. The fae are this. Gallant are they for taken up their swords an' armor an' power to clash against each other, sos we do not 'ave to. They 'ave chosen to allow our shelter of lies to remain an' per'aps this be the greatest mystery of them all.

So I sit an' watch the raindrops glisten like flattened diamonds upon the glass. I be grateful for the wind gusts that sing to me only of air. Happy that the waves seem to bow by their will alone and not the sirens I know be lurking 'neath the blue. I turn from the shadows, for it be inside them that mine eyes will see other dark eyes of stone staring back. I don't want that an' you shouldn't neither. There be some myths that are meant to stay swirling in smoke.

~*~*~