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She feels it deep inside Small, shriveled, barelypulsing. She hesitates.
Should she leave it be? Let it hide?
She reaches inside herself and draws it out. She cups it in her two hands much as she would hold a strange worm And she contemplates it.
At first it lies still No movement No color A soft charcoal mass Cold in her hands.
She studies it, turning it over in her hands Looking at it from all angles. It rolls without resistance. Tiny cracks line its surface. Gouges and pocks mar it, some just surface marks, others deep and permanent.
She sits down on the ground Tall solid trunks surrounding her Decaying leaves underneath her Greenery shadowing her safely.
She curls her legs underneath her and gently rolls the gray mass back and forth, from one hand to the other.
No change.
She tilts her head curiously Feeling strangely remote, empty without it inside her.
She stares at it for an eternal moment and then gently rolls it onto the ground, letting it rest in a small tuft of green blades.
She stretches out on her belly and shadows dance along her bare skin She continues to watch it as the wind ruffles the grass against it. Her eyes grow heavy and the trees whisper, lulling her to sleep.
She drifts, trying to watch the small lump, apathetic, detached, but still aware that it has some importance.
Tendrils of vine snake toward her, stroking her calves, the curve of her hip, sliding across her shoulders.
Vaguely aware of their comfort she lets the misty shadows in her mind overtake her and her dark eyes close, finding peace at last.
The vines whisper to the leaves above her. Can she be healed? Can it feel hope and life again? Can it be restored to her?
One small tender shoot stretches toward the mass of gray matter and touches it.
Another eternal moment
The mass shudders and trembles once.
The branches above her sigh with relief and repeat a mantra that echoes among the life in the woods.
Heal her soul.
And she rests. |
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These pages created by Lori Miller, copyright 2004. Last updated May 24, 2007. |