not asking me to sing at her wedding. I try to let go of these emotions but the same questions keep slamming at my heart. I now fear she never liked my songs as much as she's told me. She likely regarded them as not good enough for her gala. I wouldn't disagree. You know how much I love Amantha. She deserved the finest song from the finest singer. Mother would tell me to confront her about my heart's struggle with this but if we're best friends she should've told me my songs and singing were no good all along. Why should I even have to bring this up with her? It's not wrong to have wanted to sing, is it? Oh stormy winds! Snail that I am for wanting attention and praise on her greatest of days! Take this pride from me will you sweet Mother? Sheela you are ever watchful, do see these words. Knowing my songs are sweet enough for your butterflies, and my dance steps fair enough for your grass, lifts my spirit to the clouds.
nine-day, morning
Another dream like the last. Sometimes I'm running, most times walking, sometimes forest, most times fields. Now awake I can't tell if I'm after something or if something's after me. So vivid though, You with me. Like the last dream, I could feel the grass and deadleaf tickle between my toes. I could feel the moist earth on my soles. Before sitting to write, I broke fast on applecake while walking the garden without my farmshoes. Feeling those same sensations brought more of the dream to my thoughts. I remembered, that in the dream, I didn't know where I was but I didn't feel lost. What does that mean? And I could hear everything clearer than on my nights atop the burrows. I could hear each animal going about thier day so busily and I could hear them whispering to one another and to me! I had understood them then but now I can't remember what they said! Oh have mercy, let me walk this dream again tonight.
nine-day, high-sun
Resting a spell while watching the small ones help Bella. Tombold and Figgon never pick more than three berries before taking up sticks to spar like Marchers. Oh but Lily is so precious the way she waters the shrubs. She'll accidently spill a splash from the bucket as she works her way down the row and gets so frustrated. She approaches the chore like some kind of artist, unsatisfied if she doesn't pour at the base just right. Would it be too much too soon to tell her water belongs on the ground afterall? To tell her not to fret over such things? That even Your seeds don't fall in rows but only are buried as
A Peek Into Peony's Journal
A Peek Into Peony's Journal
"The God of the Qurʾan is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully." -- Vaelahr
to let them know I'm interested and available. Am I though? Someday sure, but any interest I had earlier was cast off today at the woodshop. I thought I'd give Cradel company some and watched him woodcarve a woman figurine. He barely paid me any mind but I said to him anyway, 'You carve beautifully. She looks pretty, who is she?' Without even looking up, he says, 'Not you.'
third-day, dawn
A brief dream last night, odd yet lovely, and no less vivid than the others. A small fellowship of honeybees carried acorn-cups filled with mead. They delivered them to a group of tiny folk having bodies of earth with roots as limbs. They drank then sang a song in a strange language while butterflies danced before them. My naked toes had kept rhythm on the damp moss and flowers grew from my hair. Thanks sweet Sheela, for I count this as another blessing, and today I walk again without my farmshoes. Perhaps I might lose them for good?
third-day, highsun
Altogether queer and I care not. Bella finally voiced her disapproval of my gardens. She says I mock the village by letting it grow free. Why must everything thing be in rows or pairs? Merrelie seems to understand me some but still teased me saying, 'Growing a jungle for a ghostwise guest?' So I teased back, 'Maybe.' Maybe indeed, a wise one arriving mounted on a great eagle to sweep me away beyond the walls, to show me the ancient ways and teach me the nature words spoken by the Green Children. Oh a marvelous thought!
fourth-day, morning
Not sure if I'll be able to write much today. Helping Malerie tend the schoolyard and then swimming lessons with the small ones. Brother Fenner wants to speak with me now I hear. Oh grubs, what now?
third-day, dawn
A brief dream last night, odd yet lovely, and no less vivid than the others. A small fellowship of honeybees carried acorn-cups filled with mead. They delivered them to a group of tiny folk having bodies of earth with roots as limbs. They drank then sang a song in a strange language while butterflies danced before them. My naked toes had kept rhythm on the damp moss and flowers grew from my hair. Thanks sweet Sheela, for I count this as another blessing, and today I walk again without my farmshoes. Perhaps I might lose them for good?
third-day, highsun
Altogether queer and I care not. Bella finally voiced her disapproval of my gardens. She says I mock the village by letting it grow free. Why must everything thing be in rows or pairs? Merrelie seems to understand me some but still teased me saying, 'Growing a jungle for a ghostwise guest?' So I teased back, 'Maybe.' Maybe indeed, a wise one arriving mounted on a great eagle to sweep me away beyond the walls, to show me the ancient ways and teach me the nature words spoken by the Green Children. Oh a marvelous thought!
fourth-day, morning
Not sure if I'll be able to write much today. Helping Malerie tend the schoolyard and then swimming lessons with the small ones. Brother Fenner wants to speak with me now I hear. Oh grubs, what now?
"The God of the Qurʾan is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully." -- Vaelahr
fifth-day, evening
Another talk with Brother Fenner, and again I leave feeling examined and lectured, not encouraged. He makes no secret of wanting to see me become a Hearth Warden like himself but we both know it will never be. Instead he warns against my entertaining visions of running off using the Green Steps. Saying a 'Seedling should have mentorship to see to her maturity', and that it's too dangerous, that I'm too young. And then he wouldn't listen to the known tales that tell of others even younger than I that have gone and returned kept safe by Your hands. He just wants me restrained from the wild paths and even brought up what mom and papa would say. I was already quite frustrated, nearing tears, then their mention loosed them and I cry even now. I will leave a kiss at thier barrow marker now before laying for sleep. Another Green Dream would be most welcome.
six-day, morning
Slept well yet still feel tired. No dream last night. And again I face the day wanting the world of my dreams rather than my world which I have awake, that which I once loved so passionately. This isn't right, I know. Oh Watchful Mother, what's wrong with me?
seven-day, highsun
Slept outside again, and barely at that, the wind driving the night rain under the burrow's overhang. Another day feeling heavy sadness. Depression hanging over my heart like a wet travel cloak. Bella only sees my muddy feet and shedding garlands, scolding me as I slip inside to fetch a meal from the cupboards. Earlier while swimming near the falls, I entertained very bad thoughts and am frightened to know such thoughts are my own. On my way back, I stopped to rest at the Old Phandar Hollow. I thought of crawling in and never coming out. The stories are almost as old as the tree. Perhaps the root monster will devour me, a miserable flower losing her petals. Oh Sheela, refresh my spirit!
Another talk with Brother Fenner, and again I leave feeling examined and lectured, not encouraged. He makes no secret of wanting to see me become a Hearth Warden like himself but we both know it will never be. Instead he warns against my entertaining visions of running off using the Green Steps. Saying a 'Seedling should have mentorship to see to her maturity', and that it's too dangerous, that I'm too young. And then he wouldn't listen to the known tales that tell of others even younger than I that have gone and returned kept safe by Your hands. He just wants me restrained from the wild paths and even brought up what mom and papa would say. I was already quite frustrated, nearing tears, then their mention loosed them and I cry even now. I will leave a kiss at thier barrow marker now before laying for sleep. Another Green Dream would be most welcome.
six-day, morning
Slept well yet still feel tired. No dream last night. And again I face the day wanting the world of my dreams rather than my world which I have awake, that which I once loved so passionately. This isn't right, I know. Oh Watchful Mother, what's wrong with me?
seven-day, highsun
Slept outside again, and barely at that, the wind driving the night rain under the burrow's overhang. Another day feeling heavy sadness. Depression hanging over my heart like a wet travel cloak. Bella only sees my muddy feet and shedding garlands, scolding me as I slip inside to fetch a meal from the cupboards. Earlier while swimming near the falls, I entertained very bad thoughts and am frightened to know such thoughts are my own. On my way back, I stopped to rest at the Old Phandar Hollow. I thought of crawling in and never coming out. The stories are almost as old as the tree. Perhaps the root monster will devour me, a miserable flower losing her petals. Oh Sheela, refresh my spirit!
"The God of the Qurʾan is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully." -- Vaelahr
second-day, evening
It's been a dizzying day and finally I've a chance to myself to write of what had happened. Brother Fenner's talks today were most pleasant and he speaks to me with a new respect, one I'd say is coupled with fascination.
It was morning, the rising sun burning away the dew as the village spun into the working life of the day. Cloaked with melancholy and a nagging feeling of unfulfillment I left the gate, heading past the miller's home to swim by the falls. I stopped at the Old Phandar Hollow. Should these pages be looked upon by unknowing eyes, Old Phandar is an ancient ruin of a tree. It's prime was long before Merrywood's establishment. I stared at the hollow in the trunk and the darkness of the opening tugged at my curiousity. I bent low and crawled inside, feeling and finding the dark trunk's chamber leading downward into a mesh of thick stretches of root. The masses thereof weaving, overlapping, merging, and splaying deeper and deeper into the rich earth. My mind chased the unknown and I wriggled my body lower through a narrow passage beneath the phandar's trunk. This passage then dropped me into a small cell of earth and root. Just large enough for me to turn around and get comfortable. A smile graced my mouth as I relished the small sanctuary I had found and had dared to discover. I relaxed my prone form and rested, like a weary mole, from my short journey.
I savoured the privacy, the sense of comfort and safety, that this ancient tree gave me. Time dragged by without sense of measure. I blinked and stared at the darkness before me, around me. The darkness was complete, as was the silence of my organic cell. I breathed slowly and steadily, the air filling my nostrils with the heavy rich scent of moist earth and old wood. I concentrated for a time on just listening and heard nothing, nothing at all but my breathing. My limbs grew bored so I stirred, my hands finding the yew handle of my gardening sickle which I then hugged to myself. My movement caused a brief rain of dirt from above. I tasted the grit on my lips and tongue. Tiny, wiry roots tickled my face. These roots reached out for nourishing soil but only found the void which I now inhabited. Now they touch me and I wondered if in some way they recieved some small blessing from my skin. I thought long on this, silly it may be to some. At length I relaxed and enjoyed this communion.
My awareness grew. The darkness was indeed complete, as was the silence of this organic cell. 'Prison?' I then thought. 'Tomb?' My mind raced. 'Where is the sun in the sky now?' My stomach ached with emptiness. I thought of the taste of water, the breeze on my face, the shower of the waterfall, the sounds of the small ones playing, grass under my feet, the sun on my face, and the great blue sky canopy above me. Gradually waves of panic began to build and roll over me. My eyes darted blindly about the root-cell. I wondered frantically where the way out was. My arms and legs begged for thrashing. My breaths quicked and deepened and the air felt unsatisfying to my lungs. Tears of terror burst from my eyes. I tried to cry out, to hear my own voice or to gain some small relief, but no sound issued.
I resumed a state of peace and calm as I directed my thoughts to a more occupying pasture. I remembered the strange song of the creatures in my last dream. Their haunting chant filled my thoughts and even my ears, though I could not discern a direction of any sound. I then realized an inability to know if I was dreaming or awake. A single daisy shone before me. Her full yellow disc bright with character and life. Her white rays, taut and flawless. I marvelled at Her beauty. Closer and closer, I felt myself being pulled into Her golden core until my spirit broke free and flew. I soared above the vast forests of the Dalelands, the great fields of grass and shrub, snakes of river shining silver under the sun. I glided under the vast canopies of ancient wood, my hands giving healing to elf and human. I shared thoughts with the animals and I learned of their joys, their sorrows, and received their true friendship. A silk-like sheet of wisdom seemed to embrace me. I felt cocooned without discomfort and the cell beneath the phandar became a womb-like presence to my spirit. The Wisdom of Nature encircled me, enveloped me, saturating my being with a completeness I cannot describe. I lay, for how long I do not know. I lay aware, insects and worms, roots and tubers, the enriching and crop-giving soil above and below me. I rolled slowly to my side and achingly began my journey out of the Hollow.
I felt terribly weak, climbing and squirming my way out from under the ancient phandar. The inside of the gaping trunk before me, I crawled out. The highnoon sun birthed an explosion of pain in my head as my eyes slammed shut. Feeling grass under me I lifted myself to my feet but my legs failed me, sending me staggering like a newborn fawn. I heard voices then felt hands upon me lifting and carrying me. I opened my eyes and saw myself in what I later learned was Plopper's home. Surrounding me were the concerned faces of Brother Fenner, Nany Malerie, Amantha, Bella, and Merrelie. Their expressions were alarmed but tempered with compassion. My eyes ached even in the dimness of lamplight. Brother Fenner prayed over me and I felt Cyrrollalee's generous healing wash over my body. Fenner then spoke, 'Tracker Timm said you didn't go far.' His eyes searched mine, 'When did you go in there?' I opened my mouth but found my dry tongue heavy and stuck. Brother Fenner had someone fetch something as he and Merrelie rubbed my arms and legs, restoring bloodflow and warmth. I was then given a woodcup to drink from. I took my time, tasting watered-down milk, sweetened with honey. After a few moments, Fenner asked again, 'When did you go into the phandar?' I tested my tongue in my mouth before answering, 'This morning.' I saw Bella look quickly to Fenner who shook his head and said, 'You dissappeared four days ago.'
It's been a dizzying day and finally I've a chance to myself to write of what had happened. Brother Fenner's talks today were most pleasant and he speaks to me with a new respect, one I'd say is coupled with fascination.
It was morning, the rising sun burning away the dew as the village spun into the working life of the day. Cloaked with melancholy and a nagging feeling of unfulfillment I left the gate, heading past the miller's home to swim by the falls. I stopped at the Old Phandar Hollow. Should these pages be looked upon by unknowing eyes, Old Phandar is an ancient ruin of a tree. It's prime was long before Merrywood's establishment. I stared at the hollow in the trunk and the darkness of the opening tugged at my curiousity. I bent low and crawled inside, feeling and finding the dark trunk's chamber leading downward into a mesh of thick stretches of root. The masses thereof weaving, overlapping, merging, and splaying deeper and deeper into the rich earth. My mind chased the unknown and I wriggled my body lower through a narrow passage beneath the phandar's trunk. This passage then dropped me into a small cell of earth and root. Just large enough for me to turn around and get comfortable. A smile graced my mouth as I relished the small sanctuary I had found and had dared to discover. I relaxed my prone form and rested, like a weary mole, from my short journey.
I savoured the privacy, the sense of comfort and safety, that this ancient tree gave me. Time dragged by without sense of measure. I blinked and stared at the darkness before me, around me. The darkness was complete, as was the silence of my organic cell. I breathed slowly and steadily, the air filling my nostrils with the heavy rich scent of moist earth and old wood. I concentrated for a time on just listening and heard nothing, nothing at all but my breathing. My limbs grew bored so I stirred, my hands finding the yew handle of my gardening sickle which I then hugged to myself. My movement caused a brief rain of dirt from above. I tasted the grit on my lips and tongue. Tiny, wiry roots tickled my face. These roots reached out for nourishing soil but only found the void which I now inhabited. Now they touch me and I wondered if in some way they recieved some small blessing from my skin. I thought long on this, silly it may be to some. At length I relaxed and enjoyed this communion.
My awareness grew. The darkness was indeed complete, as was the silence of this organic cell. 'Prison?' I then thought. 'Tomb?' My mind raced. 'Where is the sun in the sky now?' My stomach ached with emptiness. I thought of the taste of water, the breeze on my face, the shower of the waterfall, the sounds of the small ones playing, grass under my feet, the sun on my face, and the great blue sky canopy above me. Gradually waves of panic began to build and roll over me. My eyes darted blindly about the root-cell. I wondered frantically where the way out was. My arms and legs begged for thrashing. My breaths quicked and deepened and the air felt unsatisfying to my lungs. Tears of terror burst from my eyes. I tried to cry out, to hear my own voice or to gain some small relief, but no sound issued.
I resumed a state of peace and calm as I directed my thoughts to a more occupying pasture. I remembered the strange song of the creatures in my last dream. Their haunting chant filled my thoughts and even my ears, though I could not discern a direction of any sound. I then realized an inability to know if I was dreaming or awake. A single daisy shone before me. Her full yellow disc bright with character and life. Her white rays, taut and flawless. I marvelled at Her beauty. Closer and closer, I felt myself being pulled into Her golden core until my spirit broke free and flew. I soared above the vast forests of the Dalelands, the great fields of grass and shrub, snakes of river shining silver under the sun. I glided under the vast canopies of ancient wood, my hands giving healing to elf and human. I shared thoughts with the animals and I learned of their joys, their sorrows, and received their true friendship. A silk-like sheet of wisdom seemed to embrace me. I felt cocooned without discomfort and the cell beneath the phandar became a womb-like presence to my spirit. The Wisdom of Nature encircled me, enveloped me, saturating my being with a completeness I cannot describe. I lay, for how long I do not know. I lay aware, insects and worms, roots and tubers, the enriching and crop-giving soil above and below me. I rolled slowly to my side and achingly began my journey out of the Hollow.
I felt terribly weak, climbing and squirming my way out from under the ancient phandar. The inside of the gaping trunk before me, I crawled out. The highnoon sun birthed an explosion of pain in my head as my eyes slammed shut. Feeling grass under me I lifted myself to my feet but my legs failed me, sending me staggering like a newborn fawn. I heard voices then felt hands upon me lifting and carrying me. I opened my eyes and saw myself in what I later learned was Plopper's home. Surrounding me were the concerned faces of Brother Fenner, Nany Malerie, Amantha, Bella, and Merrelie. Their expressions were alarmed but tempered with compassion. My eyes ached even in the dimness of lamplight. Brother Fenner prayed over me and I felt Cyrrollalee's generous healing wash over my body. Fenner then spoke, 'Tracker Timm said you didn't go far.' His eyes searched mine, 'When did you go in there?' I opened my mouth but found my dry tongue heavy and stuck. Brother Fenner had someone fetch something as he and Merrelie rubbed my arms and legs, restoring bloodflow and warmth. I was then given a woodcup to drink from. I took my time, tasting watered-down milk, sweetened with honey. After a few moments, Fenner asked again, 'When did you go into the phandar?' I tested my tongue in my mouth before answering, 'This morning.' I saw Bella look quickly to Fenner who shook his head and said, 'You dissappeared four days ago.'
"The God of the Qurʾan is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust, unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully." -- Vaelahr