Molten Madam ... never too old for the mischief and the mystery
"She is only an ocean away." The Night Bird was talking in a voice muted only because the rain was so fierce. The Witch was keen to the conversations of po the conversations that fill the night. She was listening while her body rested under the covers pulled tight against her silver hair raging in tendrils that would no longer be tamed. The cowlicks had joined and now she was without doubt the full account of her sacred name. She was the Wild Hare, and in this shape it was always necessary to listen in on the birds of prey. In this form and at this stage it was vital for her survival. So. She remained alert.
The owls spoke of the Goddess who was actively making new land; molten in its formation it was the one who mentored with her uncle the atmosphere. To the Old Ones, all of them, the uncle was simply Lono the Old, Lonomakua. Even here in the land and Islands between the two mountain ranges dense with Cedar, Fir, Hemlock and Pine the ones who flew kept track of the Fire Goddess Pele. She had family here, and many of them have passed long memories of death due the molten madam. So, while she slept The Witch made sure her night ears were sharp. It would be just like Pele to wake the sleeping giants in her region. "I'm really too old for this sort of mischief," Pale only thought this to herself. But, Raven never missed a thing his mate said or did and from the ledge that he preferred over a soft bed, the ancient silver bird said, "You will never be too old for the mischief that wears you like tattoos on your ankles." The story was not yet over. Will it ever be?
"She is only an ocean away." The Night Bird was talking in a voice muted only because the rain was so fierce. The Witch was keen to the conversations of po the conversations that fill the night. She was listening while her body rested under the covers pulled tight against her silver hair raging in tendrils that would no longer be tamed. The cowlicks had joined and now she was without doubt the full account of her sacred name. She was the Wild Hare, and in this shape it was always necessary to listen in on the birds of prey. In this form and at this stage it was vital for her survival. So. She remained alert.
The owls spoke of the Goddess who was actively making new land; molten in its formation it was the one who mentored with her uncle the atmosphere. To the Old Ones, all of them, the uncle was simply Lono the Old, Lonomakua. Even here in the land and Islands between the two mountain ranges dense with Cedar, Fir, Hemlock and Pine the ones who flew kept track of the Fire Goddess Pele. She had family here, and many of them have passed long memories of death due the molten madam. So, while she slept The Witch made sure her night ears were sharp. It would be just like Pele to wake the sleeping giants in her region. "I'm really too old for this sort of mischief," Pale only thought this to herself. But, Raven never missed a thing his mate said or did and from the ledge that he preferred over a soft bed, the ancient silver bird said, "You will never be too old for the mischief that wears you like tattoos on your ankles." The story was not yet over. Will it ever be?
No comments:
Post a Comment