Home...

If only the sun could shine as bright outside as the yellow curtain that radiates in the steam of hot showers. Barometric pressure falling for ease of breath. Fearing daily routines and obligations, while searching to find a place to ignite the creative spark into flames.

The house transforms daily. Exterior worn by weather, stripping of paint. Molding gnawed by squirrels teeth. Broken windows taped with black duct tape to retain stability and resist wind. The framing creeks, and stairs sound when walked upon. Hardened orange glue coats the shower walls, protection against water damage. Light shines through frosted windows, muting and comforting the imperfection contained within. Shampoo and conditioner bottles line the shelf next to the tub. They aren’t designer, instead soaps and cleansers purchased on a budget. Beauty products retained since high school, with updated bobby pins and old glasses speckle the ambiance. Hot water from pipes cleanses and washes away the past. Brushes stick, putting everything back into place. The mirrors reflect the hope of possible change showing limitations in time. Gray hairs surprise the display, each earned and intimidating. Speaking of youth slipping, but the house doesn’t believe in such superficial notions.

Early 80s style linoleum, cream in color with browned diamonds, make boxed patterns. The tub is new. Installed specifically to sale. Incomplete and functioning. Three holes in the ceiling show peaping light from attic. A hidden place to explore, uninsulated, but curious all the same.

Spiders roam without fear or inhibition. Nights wakened by tickling legs on cheek, chin, and chest. They don’t admire the hardwood floors or victorian trimmed windows. They gravitate to travel across flesh, anticipating a treat of a hungry mosquito in mid bite.

The words asbestos and lead or used in the three stories. Ten foot tall ceilings and unlimited space take away all worry. Mannequin arms drape the floor waiting to lend a hand. Music fills each and every room by instruments and technology. One gas fireplace is the only form of heat for seven rooms. At night, sleeping bags and knitted hats are required. Socks to cover cold toes.  Still, the coffee scenting the kitchen in the morning is inviting like a Folgers commercial at Christmas. Deer skulls ornament the shelves, a bright yellow daisy, the eye for one, trying to peer upon the rusting silhouette of a woman’s torso decorating the extend front porch.  

1911 built and the home still expresses those contained within. Splashes of differing green on shingles, banisters, and trim. Three struggling individuals, building their lives through passions, desires, dreams.  A location and time to repair, create, shape. A place to call home.

Finding One's Wings

 


Guided by candle lantern
And sky of night
Peaking upon starlight
Ave take flight


 


Once, there was a young girl who was lost. She would constantly wander the land, but she could not remember her home. When she reached a village, she would stay for awhile. People told her to settle down, find stability, meet a man (for she was now truly a woman, not a girl), but every evening dreams brewed inside her head. Dreams of an ocean unseen, a city not yet explored, a forest of soft pine.

By morning, she would be gone--her feet taking a new path.

On one such day, the girl found herself completely alone. She was low on provisions and chill air bit into her bones. To comfort herself she began to whistle a small tune. A tune she had always known, but had never placed upon her lips. As soon as the notes hit the air, the sound echoed on the trees, and she heard mixed in the song a rustling by a near tree. Moving closer to it, a small quail, holding a small stick in its beak, jumped upon her path and stopped quite abruptly to look into her eyes. Seeing the girl was not dangerous, the quail dropped its stick into her bag and slowly walked the path again and the girl followed.

In time, the girl and the quail reached a large lake and they sat beside it to admire the water and their reflections upon it.  The girl placed her lips right to the waters edge and whistled her comforting tune and small ripples shivered on the lake's surface. From its depths a mallard duck emerged, its head glinting bright green. The mallard nestled itself to the girl's side and she lightly touched the mallard's green plume and emeralds dropped from the feathers into her bag. The girl whistled her tune to thank the two birds for their gifts and the notes wrapped around the light dew beginning to coat the forest floor when a rooster’s crow was added to the mix.

Pecking at the earth the rooster strutted its way to the girl, and dropped a kernel of corn held within its beak into the girls open bag. The girl cocked her head to the rooster in a warm affection way only to notice the sun was beginning to set, hints of violet spread across the sky, and she must continue on her way. By try as she might, the girl could not find away to cross the lake. Its water continued with no end in sight.

She was blocked.

Saddened, she sat with her new friends under a nearby pine tree and began to cry. Her tears fell to the ground, coating the needles nearby. But her tears stopped when the rhythm of her tune was struck upon the air as a rat-a-tat-tat sound from above. 

Perched in the tree was a woodpecker, hitting its beak against the trunk. To keep the bird motivated, the girl whistled added her voice to the sound of his work. In what seemed like no time at all, the tree fell into the lake's water allowing her and her friends to cross half the distance. They walked to the rhythm of her tune, and when they reached the end of the tree’s limbs a large swan was waiting to glide the party across.

Night had taken over, but the girl was able to catch movement in the sky. A large barn owl swept across the sky. With each stretch of its wings, stars sparked. As the owl began to descend, his wing caught a falling star that dropped as a diamond into the girl's bag. 

The owl landed deftly by the girl’s feet. His large eyes glowed bright, and the girl saw it held a fish in its talons. Taking the stick gifted her by the quail, a rock from the earth, and the emerald of the mallard, the girl was able to make a fire. With the water of the lake, the rooster’s kernel of corn, and the fish brought by the owl, the girl made a stew to feed herself and all her new found friends. 

In thanks, all the birds helped to build a nest to fit their weary companion. They settled by her side, sang her song to the stars, and the warmth of their feathers against her cheek made her drift quickly to sleep.

Her dreams were vivid.

Each of her new friends guided her and gave her advice as they traveled farther in the night. The quail urged her to appreciate the path, the mallard suggested she always continue to dive to new depths. Rooster encouraged her always to crow with her own voice. Woodpecker said there is always a way around what you think bars you. Swan spoke that grace is found within those who are willing to endure, and Owl showed her there is nothing to fear in darkness for beauty is always present. 

And then a stranger joined the crew. Tall and grand, the bird could only be described as an Emperor refined in a black and white suit. The Emperor kissed the girl’s hand and bowed before her. He provided her a glowing lantern and told her to find her true flock, for with them is your heart.

When the girl awoke, she was no longer in her nest, but standing before a village. Her new friends had gone, but the memory of her dream lingered like a drifting feather. With one step the girl heard her tune whistled from another person's lips. The girl searched for the player of the song and came upon a woman seated by a fire. The girl whistled the tune in unison with the woman, and then she decided to speak.

“I don’t bring much, but I have one small diamond to give if you would let me stay in your village.”

Hearing the girl’s voice the woman turned to the girl. “Your being here is worth more than any jewel you could give.” The woman wrapped her arms around the girl. Instantly the girl felt as a blue jay flying, her wings brushing the tops of clouds. 

“I will always support your wings." The woman said smiling. "Welcome home, my precious daughter.”

***

Writers Notes: At Christmas I presented my mom with a gift--a print from the wonderful and amazing Utah artist Darrell Driver. For me, the image represented our combined love for stories. A picture I thought would remind my mom (on the days that writers block occurs) to stay whimsical, our best ideas are the ones that just happen to flutter by. Plus, my mom likes birds. 

But I wanted to do more with this gift. As  the print was visual, I wanted to place a few words to it for her. As I began to write this tale, it took a different direction than I had originally intended. Somehow it went from the opening chapter of a possible fantasy novel, to a folktale with my mom's wedding ring finding its way into the mix (hence the emerald and diamonds, which somehow--miraculously without any fortune-telling--also represent my sister's and my birthstones). I like the stories simplicity from such a playful and elegant piece of art. I hope you like it Mom, and I encourage anyone else who has read to this point to check out the artists website and enjoy the image that got me to write this piece.