Along a woodsy trail in the deepest forest you’ll find a steady light if you look hard. Wish on it. If your heart is pure and you know the meaning of the season, your wish will come true. But then you won’t be believing me, will you?
No influencer am I. Not one you’ll find on Tik Tok or Instagram. Not one to hype the latest thing. But I tell you, take that walk, find a log, sit a while. A small brown bird will land on a branch. A doe might feed, a squirrel might chatter. Anything can happen.
The village wise woman was sure he was a changeling. “He was kidnapped by fairies.”
They took the boy to the middle of the forest on the night of a blue moon, left him in a clearing, then hid themselves. He disappeared in a puff of smoke. They heard a baby cry.
”How will we know if it’s ours,” the father said.
”What if it’s not?” The mother burst into tears.
They picked the baby up, a beautiful little girl, and brought her to the wise woman. “Raise her well. She’s been touched by magic; soon she’ll take my place.”
On her eighteenth birthday, her mother presented the princess with golden slippers, shiny, with sensible heels and a square toe, perfect for adventuring. The princess tried them on. They fit perfectly.
“They always will,” her mother said. “They cost a pretty penny, but they’re worth it.”
Her mother’s last adventure had been to the place where pretty pennies are mined. “We’ll travel. We’ll have such fun. You can’t imagine.”
The princess looked at her mother’s feet, but they were shod in ordinary leather. “Those are your Adventure shoes?”
“They change to suit the occasion. They’re quite useful.”
“I can imagine.”
They’ve built the Sukkot sukkah to remember wandering for forty years in the desert. Vegetables and fruits cover the grass mat where they will eat supper.
The sky is quiet now, but the two year old refuses to come out from under her bed where she feels safe. It’s been this way for weeks, months. It’s worse when planes are flying. If Bubbie brings food to her, she can lure the toddler into the open.
The child comes, but will not eat, as if she could control the planes this way, by waiting for peace before she breaks her fast.
Crystal White sleeps through spring and summer.
Tats fine lace on crisp fall days. In winter, an icy wraith,
She crusts roofs, coats bare branches.
Under deciduous trees, leaves clump, stiff to the ground.
She casts a spell. Keeps me warm abed.
Reluctant to heed the call of morning’s light, I dream of fragrant gingerbread.
Relaxed under a blanket, I peruse the glossy pages of a travel book.
A fire warms the room. The logs crumble to embers.
Resigned, I set aside all thoughts of reprieve.
Dark days are coming,
Winter before spring.
Grim hiatus, but these trials will pass.
The day before the election results come in, I’m anxious. I shuffle and create a spread, laying Tarot cards on the counter. The High Priestess represents my question. This card symbolizes divine law. The future is hidden, but intuition can be a flashlight in the dark. Which way to go? Towards integrity or expedience? It is an uneasy choice.
The Tower and the Ace of Wands (reversed) suggest a past where change has been postponed. We struggle to transform an outmoded system. It will take longer than one election cycle to develop the collective awareness required to come to consensus. In the short term, established institutions will remain in place.
How does one cope? The Hanged Man suggests a pause, a rebirth, and a reassertion of the feminine principle. Integration comes from a process of sifting facts, feelings, and thoughts together. Can we do it? The Six of Pentacles (reversed) points to money selfishly misused, an environment that must change. The Emperor is the X-factor, the unexpected outcome. The card represents rule by force under patriarchal institutions. If this is the election’s outcome, I hope we unite to change direction and reach for a different future under the rainbow card.
Immigrants are the lifeblood of America. They bring hope, energy, and optimism. Different languages and cultures enrich this country. We’re better together.
It’s a story that’s been told before. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “We all came in on different ships, but we’re all in the same boat now.” I heard it in a Malvina Reynolds song.
Most people don’t remember that song. The sentiment has drowned in a sea of anti-immigrant vitriol that’s threatening our most precious import. And here you thought it was silicon chips or fast fashion. Don’t be fooled. We need a path, not a wall.
Bunny tail, soft and furry warm,
The boy insisted that I keep it.
Who knows what it meant to him.
He had so little.
The boy insisted that I keep it.
The best apology he could make.
He had so little;
It seemed like a huge sacrifice;
The best apology he could make.
I told him words were enough;
It seemed like a huge sacrifice,
The guilt another blow to his fragile ego.
I told him words were enough.
Who knows what it meant to him,
The guilt another blow to his fragile ego,
Bunny tail, soft and furry warm.
Death disrupts life’s everydayness.
Ends the companionship of eating together,
Evening walks and midnight talks
With friends and family.
Ends the companionship of eating together,
Thoughts shared, words and deeds. These bring us close
With friends and family,
Confer death its sting through everyday loss.
Thoughts shared, words and deeds, these bring us close.
Long before we die these precious threads loosen,
Confer death its sting through everyday loss.
Everyday loss creeps up, settles in softly
Long before we die these precious threads loosen,
Evening walks and midnight talks.
Everyday loss creeps up, settles in softly.
Death disrupts life’s everydayness.
Calypso, Circe, and Griselda waited to begin. They gasped with delight when Penelope arrived without Odysseus, a red and yellow striped hula hoop spinning to the sway of her hips.
It flew up. It centered itself. Now they were ready to roll.
The four joined hands and swirled madly around the hoop. Calypso’s sweet soprano lifted their hearts while Circe cast a spell of impatience that Penelope wove into a new adventure. Griselda simply danced. They spun faster and faster, until the hoop transformed into a Möbius strip. In one smooth move, they disappeared into a chaos of roiling branches.
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 