On the Day of the Dead, Life and Death Meet

La Calavera Catrina strolled in the park on La Dia de Muertos. She passed stands of tamales where patrons and proprietors waved. A small boy ran to her and held out a sugar skull. “Senora, for you.” Catrina’s skeletal face brightened under the wide-brimmed hat she wore.

She plucked a flower from the hat and held it out for him. “Muchacho, muchas gracias. I wish you a long life. Live it. All the generosity in your heart, give it away and it will grow. Hold it close and it will wither.” She took his hand; he smiled; they strolled on.

On Hallow’s Eve

Rain-dappled moonlight pierced the clouds on a wet Halloween night. It cast a silo of light, illuminating a broom abandoned in a muddy field. The broom danced alone to silent music; a step, a dip, a leap. It wished for company. A witch materialized from thin air.

“I’ve come through the veil to find my sister,” she said.

The broom curtseyed, in the stiff way that brooms do. “Climb on.”

The broom got cozy under the witch’s woolen cloak, and with a few mumbled spells, the witch searched the Earth on the one night when living and dead mingle together.

Advice from an Older Me to My Six Year-old Self

I traveled in time to my sixth birthday party. I spoke with my younger self. “Psst. It’s hard to wait when you’re six.”

“Yeah, it’s not fair. It’s my birthday. I’m last in line for all the games. My aunt said I should get to go first, but Dad won’t listen to anyone.

“Relax. Life is waiting in lines. You’ll learn to notice what’s important. You’ll see; that’s your superpower.”

“I’m mad and I’m sad.”

“You’ll remember the party that way. But learning to wait is valuable, even when you think waiting isn’t worth it. Also, Dad’s not always right.”

In Retreat

Lily had a cup of coffee and a bowl of granola after an hour of yoga. The beach was a ten minute walk away. She didn’t gag at the disagreeable smell of rotting algae. She reveled in it. The sight of plovers hopping along, their beaks poking the wet sand to find breakfast, delighted her. The sunrise shone behind them.

She was beginning to enjoy the solitary days, the solo walks, the freedom to set her own schedule. A month after her partner passed, she had found a natural habitat where death and life mingled and new mixed with old.

After the Funeral

Sven was filled with Guinness and peanuts. Distracted by a roadside fruit stand, he ran a stop light.

An ordinary goat in a neon vest and hard hat was selling a variety of grapes: blue concords, tiny green Champagnes and four other kinds.

“I’ll take a pound of the Muscat,” Sven said through his open window.

The goat ambled over, leaned on the roof and stared. “You’ve had enough.”

But Sven wanted grapes more than he could say. “They’re for my wife.”

There were no grapes. There was no wife. Sven began to weep for grapes and so much more.

A Mother Knows

A beloved king lived in a modest bungalow on the edge of the forest. His wife was the kindest and most beautiful of all women. Together they ruled the kingdom of Thryngia in peace and prosperity. If only they had a child to succeed them.

A charlatan heard of their plight. He found his way into their confidence and promised to bring to life the stillborn child they had buried scarcely weeks before. The charlatan’s cousin, a witch, transformed him into an infant and raised him from the child’s grave. The queen was not fooled. A mother knows her child.

Gaslighting with the Little People

The sly leprechaun winked for the camera. ”Roll it.”
Invisible fairies heckled the TACO king on the golf green. “Heh, heh, ho, ho, fascism has got to go.” Don-Don landed in a sand trap. Brazen, he carried the ball to the cup. Now he was trapped.

Leprechaun Productions scored better ratings than the three hour snoozefest televised from a cabinet meeting or the new show, Oval Office Apprentice with TACO king scowling at Zelensky. Nothing was as popular as the grifter-in-chief on the 18th hole pleading with a fire-breathing dragon.

Don-Don abdicated his throne. The dragon hologram disappeared. The leprechaun winked.

Floating Island

The princess abided hiding away on an island. She kept hope alive for her people while her brother made his quest to free the kingdom from an evil wizard. Summer nights, crickets sang merrily and in the winter, deer fed on the hay she spread near her small cottage.

A loyal staff cared for the grounds and animals. They produced most things the household needed. The rest was magically delivered by an unmanned boat.

After he defeated the evil wizard, her brother arrived one moonlit night. They hugged, returned home to great acclaim , and the kingdom prospered under their rule.

Feather, Flute, Cloak

(Continued from last week)

The Prince picked up the flute and played. Within minutes, a bird so large it blocked the sun landed in the field where the Prince stood. It said, “Put on the cloak and get on my back.” Invisible, the Prince flew to a drear castle where the bird left him to his fate.

He fingered the feather and the gate opened. An evil wizard greeted him. “Come to save your kingdom? First save yourself.” The feather became a sword. The prince flew at the wizard. His cloak protected him. The wizard’s anguished cry reversed the curse and freed the kingdom.

(Last installment next week)

A Hidden Prince

As long as the children were hidden, there was hope. A tiny woman, nursemaid to the princess, spirited the girl away when an evil wizard tricked his way into the palace and cast a spell on the land.

The nursemaid, a witch, had warned the queen. At her behest, the prince was sent to live in a neighboring kingdom. He grew up to be that mage king’s most valuable assistant. When the time came for him to find his sister and break the spell, the kindly king produced three magical items: a feather, a flute, and a cloak.

(To be continued)

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