A thousand and one tales

Tale #95: In The Garden Between

In the evening we could hear her, calling us out by name from the walled garden at the centre of the town, in the gap between the shops and the houses, somewhere behind the church.

In the night we could hear her, crying softly to herself about imprisonment, about captivity and despair. In the morning we could hear her still, her voice strong and clear, cutting through the noise of the day, singing defiantly of hope and freedom, of escape and revenge.

Each year we built the walls higher, dug the foundations deeper, made the structure stronger as best we could. Not to save our children, although that was the lie we told. But to save, here and now, ourselves from the consequences of our own crimes.

Yet we knew, deep down, one day she would be free. That a retribution would come no matter how much we tried to avoid it.

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Notes:

1. Written on September 25th, 2017

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Tale #94: Beneath the weeping willow she sat down and wept

There was a girl who liked to hide. Each day she sat alone beneath the weeping willow. The branches and the boughs of the tree wrapped themselves around her to form this secret safe haven that was all her own.

Each day she cast, in her mind, a spell so strong the whole town would burn. Tears ran down her cheeks and soaked into the cotton of her blouse. Blood ran from her clenched fists into the dirt of the ground on which she sat. And the words of her spell dripped from her tongue into the protection of the tree itself, which ate them up and swallowed them whole and kept them secret from the world.

In her heart, unspoken, was another wish, one that would let her stay here forever, surrounded and safe and alone. But always, eventually, the weeping willow had to let her go, and she would return to the world that was immune to her spells of destruction, but which was trying its hardest, each day, to be the ruin of her.

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Notes:

1. Written on July 1st, 2019
2. The title is taken from By Grand Central Station I Sat Down And Wept, by Elizabeth Smart

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Tale #93: A circle, whispering time

They built a calendar out of trees and flowers in the meadows around the town.

12 groves in a circle, a new colour blooming each month.

In January, the white of snowdrops
In February, the yellow of daffodils
In March, the green of grey willow
In April, the blue of wisteria
In May, the pink of cherry blossoms
In June, the red of poppies
In July, the honeyed yellow of catkins on sweet chestnut trees
In August, the purple velvet of tufted vetch
In September, the crimson of burnet
In October, the gold of autumn hawkbit
In November, the grey beards clinging to the branches of the clematis trees

Then December comes.

In the silence nothing grows,
but much is buried

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Notes:

1. Written on September 4, 2019
2. And reminiscent of this previous tale – The town, the forest, the past

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Tale #92: The Morning Birds Free The Soul, The Night Ones Take Them

It was a commonly held belief that heaven resided in the earth and hell within the air. Crops grew from the ground, while fire and smoke rose upwards.

Worms were believed to be new souls struggling to the surface from heaven, and only with the help of the morning birds could they be pulled free and delivered to the newborns that needed them. A child born in the morning was said to be blessed with a good soul.

Upon death, the body was returned to the ground, so as to be nearer heaven. The bodies of the sinful and the condemned were hoisted up and left on the roofs of houses, so that the evening birds (crows, gulls, owls) could pick clean their bones and take not only their flesh but their souls up into the skies towards damnation.

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Notes:

1. Written on August 8th, 2013

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Tale #91: The King’s Wives

The king kept his wives on an island from which none could escape. And every year he sent more wives to the island as new lands were conquered and became part of his kingdom.

One day, he decided to sail out alone to the island to spend some time with his women. But when he arrived, there were no wives to be seen.

“Where are you, my dears?” he called out into the silence, but there was no reply. And when he tried to leave he found the winds had fallen still and it was impossible for him to sail away on the becalmed seas.

He spent the night in his favourite chambers, but found it hard to sleep in the huge and empty bed. He woke twice to the sound of voices, but when he called out they fell silent, and there was no reply. The third time he woke there was nothing but silence, and when he tried to call out he found he could not.

The wives woke in the morning and were surprised to find the king’s boat moored at the shore. But of the king there was no sign, and though they called his name across the island they received no reply.

They sailed away without him, and where that island is now, none can say.

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Notes:

1. Written in July 2016

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