Quietly sleeping with both eyes open, wakening in the morning dew; carefully spying from where she’s hiding to spot her next move. Twinkle, twinkle little one, life is swift and just begun. Never certain if you’re safe, constant guardian of your space. Take a chance, make a move, forward we go with nothing to prove. Surrender yesterday and last year’s worries for the year of the rabbit brings us bountiful stories. Look around, sniff the air, feel the sunlight on you hare? In the moment, be and thrive rejoice for each day that you survive. Tiny steps or grand leaps and bounds the year ahead is still unfound. Year of the Rabbit, year of Hope, unwind your minds mental ropes. Listen more, and be present for those you love or meet whether in your home or on the street. Silence can be the best coach, mindfully change your approach. Hop along with grace not fear, embrace the morning of this new year.
I don’t want to be awake. It’s been a perfect night for sleep, rain in Stockholm. Tin roof, comfy bed, the whole kit and caboodle. Real as can be, exhausted by additional pain from flying while disabled, I lie here wondering how will the special chronic repetitive pain syndrome diagnosis is going to play out. Later today I check into Uppsala universitet sjukhuset smartkliniken, that is Uppsala University’s pain clinic for a one week assessment. From this poking and prodding of both my mind and body it will be determined if a team of specialists will have me back for a month long stay. How does one rehabilitate chronic pain? I am too far gone to think about the entirety of it but will say, from what I have read, my brain is scrambled, the coding has been buried or tiny mice in my head have chewed through the wires. I am never free from pain, rested and refreshed or in the slightest comfortable. Hope is on the table and I want to be that kind of human who believes, ” change is gonna come, yes it is.” Lm attempts to move forward and cry the entire few hours and minutes I have left with fear and angst using the “why me spiel”. Rock is in place, ready for whatever comes next and has tucked Lm into a safe space for the time being. Real as it gets has taken center stage and I, the woman almost sixty years old will wrestle with fervor to let the rainy, dark morning give me some time for my eyelids to grow heavy, for my own purring snore to begin and perhaps I’ll be gifted a dream where I am unchained from my physical limitations and run a muck carefree.
The beat of Christmas is thumping from within her breast. Glossy flashes of overdone fun, stupored guest’s belongings trusted in Lm’s care remind her of unwanted overtures. Slurring, “Where’s my coat gorgeous?”. The squeezed cheeks, vile hugs from men twice her age who smelled of aged cheese and scotch. “That’s your daughter?”; oh, BadDad was proud then. Lm adored him still. He was all knowing, and she did not care what people said, he was her everything and no one could tell her otherwise. Rock is shoving a big fir tree down the stairwell, it’s walls now likely full of black mold. “What the hell! We can barely breathe in here as it is!”. Lm does her Scarlett O’Hara impression and falls as if fainting when Rock sets up the full Scottish pine. “Shall I drape myself in red velvet curtains, hang mistletoe and pluck a goose?”; Ah, Rock has a reaction from her finally. “Tell me about good times Lm! Must we roll in the stench of unbearable times always?”. Then Lm speaks, “FINE! BadDad is like gumbo, a bit of this, a tad of that and somehow he always made his fuck up’s better. He knew he could lie to others in front of me and I would never cross him. I miss him. I miss his daydreams, his enthusiasm, his blue eyes that could cry so dramatically, the same eyes that broke me still have a family, MY family. I had to forsake them to save us. Five of my seven half-siblings believe in him, celebrate Christmas right now with him and it’s painful. Three are strong women who would never take what I did from him. How am I to feel when he lied to their mother’s, cheated on them and even though my first little sister from Elle knows enough to stand up for me, she retreats. Why? It’s a hell of a lot easier to have the abused one far away in another country.” “Do you want to change it somehow?” asks Rock. Lm smells the fresh scent of the forest greenery and looks lost. She then starts to make popcorn and finds a needle and thread to sew a traditional cranberry popcorn chain. “I know one thing Rock. Thanks to you. TRUTH is the dystopian playground for the likes of us. We can no longer play with the others but at least we have one another.” Rock the protector, the foreman of all that is rightuous is wrong. Wrong in his predictions that is; Lm’s strength and courage surprises him yet he is thankful that Lm may just be able to go on with her life, with him on her shoulder and together they can burn the secret files from her past. Or can they? To cut the ties is a frightening thought. Can Lm stand up for herself and can Rock help her to heal? There is not much time left and God knows something must change permanently soon. Her physical pain, her cptsd and feelings of being erased tower over her. In the shadows of the well meant Christmas tree from Rock she feels her Daddy’s hand, his old love and wonders if he will ever tell her siblings, his wife, or even himself the Truth. Christmas is lost in old songs, unrequited love and Rock knows, “Pa Rumpa Pum Pum” fills Lm’s heavy heart with the kind of memories that creep upon many lost souls whether they summons them or not this time of year. Lm blurts out, “So you want a good memory Rock? Will that make you feel better? It sure as hell won’t help me but I’ll do it for you because it is Christmas Eve.” Lm stands and shares the memory of caroling with BadDad’s mother whom she adored. “My cousins and I went to neighbors and sang Jingle Bells, The Little Drummer Boy and more. That’s a good memory. Why? Because BadDad wasn’t there.” Lm tries to straighten the tree and carefully adorns it with her popcorn and cranberry chain. “To bad you can’t eat, Rock. I’m craving rice pudding. The door to Lm and Rock is slightly open and she feels the cold, frosty air. Integrating with Rock is a far off dream; whether it’s due to the spirit of hope and love that Christmas brings or her secret fantasy, Lm wants to feel whole again.
Chronic Pain; The Modalities of Madness
“It’s that TIME of year, the gruelling, catastrophic melancholy jingles of good tidings deepen Lm’s bastard of a headache.” Rock reminds Lm it’s not her “JOB” to be jolly. Lm thought last year was tough with her mother visiting; fibromyalgia, brain fog and her severe spinal pain made being merry impossible; polite and engaging was a morose daily event. Lm’s mother still does not get it even though she says she does. Her mother wakes at seventy-nine years old in good health, fully dresses, puts on her jewellery and lipstick then the giant elephant, PAIN in the ass, Lm woke slovenly, unrested, clad in in her night clothes, needing the toilet and wishing her mother to be quiet. “Good morning!” “How do you feel today?” Blah, blah, blah would ensue, and Lm would use the bathroom then excuse herself to her room again. She had wanted to shout and completely lose her fucking cool and say, ” I don’t know what a good morning is!” “I feel like shit”. What a tiring memory; simply recounting it drives steel bars through Lm’s ears, clanging, banging, whistling to the point of insanity, “Tinnitus”, Rock recalls. Lm glares at Rock, “Shut up, you don’t have ears.” Now, after having covid last March 2022 Lm has made a steady decline, like a little steam engine riding it’s breaks she slowly took each turn, believed she was in control and would not careen into the mountain sides and land in a big heap culminating into a pile of unsalvageable parts. Yet, she did. She is a heap of bitter moments, throbbing bones, more and more fatigued each minute as she lies entangled within her dreadful blob of perpetual turmoil. Dreams are cruel and vivid now. Christmas music isn’t cutting it for her and Rock pushing her to wash her hair, take more pain meds only irritates her. An unwelcomed mouse gnaws in the ceiling above her bed and her eyes burn from lack of rest. Sleeping is her game now. Fa la la la la. Rock is not as strong now. He has always carried her with crushing will and managed her weaknesses; it’s obvious he is vulnerable, too. She has clung to his ability to push through the physical pain, the abuse, the sickness, the past, the failures and smile. He can’t do it alone now and is scared. Who will help Lm? Who will see she is too weak to fight much longer? She does have two promising doctors now and soon will fly off to a special hospital for chronic repetitive pain patients. What about her CPTSD, BadDad, unresolved “Black Sheep” night terrors? What about suicidal ideation? No one wants to hear this part. Amsterdam is sounding like a good place to depart this goddamn nightmare. Laying on sofas, forgetting words, sleeping for hours now while it seemed like a romp in the snow wasn’t so long ago, a wintery walk through the forest, cooking masterfully with passion, playing a game of cards with the kids, being the “I got this” kind of mother. Lm knows she doesn’t have this now. She won’t climb a mountain, canoe or see Botswana nor make it back to her favourite old haunts with her husband. She dreams of parties and dancing, remembers her youthful beauty and laugh. She can’t take care of her surroundings and just wants out. Rock can’t console her more. He has run out of ideas. There are no good surprises coming. She will sleep through the holidays, check out her last shot at being “better” at the special pain rehabilitation centre and then come back, just the same, turn sixty in January in an uneventful way and wonder no more “why me?”. She will let go of Rock, stop dreaming and stop trying to make friends stay. No MORE existing through this shit, she will give in. She doesn’t want to be felt sorry for, sympathy and prayers. She wants OUT! Because NOBODY truly knows what it takes for her to live. The anxiety, lying in a pool of regrets, wrong turns, and basically her dumbass MINDFULNESS journey leading her right back to what she really is, useless. A total drag. Someone who holds everyone she loves back. Pride has left on the last ship out of here. Divided. Lm is now a thing. An “it”. Rock stumbles and TRUTH agrees, the two of them are in for a big last fight before the bell rings and the winner is declared. Honestly, in the boxing ring of life, he doubts either will rise again.
Spillwords.com presents: Lame, a short story by Andrea Polla, who is originally from the USA and has resided in Sweden for twenty years.
“I really thought I’d lost my grip on you Lm!” Rock doesn’t sweat; he has kept a solid eye on Lm. “You’ve been out cold; this was your first setback in years.” Lm scoots close to Rock, leaning her weak frame against his rawness, his realness and stares blankly. Lm was triggered by chronic pain, severe non-stop agony, her attempts to keep herself together crumbled. She ran away from herself which is when the hauntings of BaDDaD and a feeling of distrust take control of her persona. She is edgy, frightened by her own meltdown. Rock pulls her up the dank stairwell and let’s fresh air in through the doorway to her soul. She inhales and shivers with small tears of disappointment. “I’ve been doing so well Rock, you are supposed to keep me safe! It’s your fault you asshole. You are an ugly piece of old cement, all dried up into the most pathetic piece of whatever. Who cares? Not me. Why do you scowl at me? Why can’t I lose you or better yet throw you into the sea where you belong. Stupid Rock! “I am part of you Lm, in fact I am you.” “Holy crap, now I’ve heard everything, you are me?” Rock is still and listens as Lm curses, throws handfuls of small pebbles at him and she pushes him down the stairwell. Rock is not hurt. He lies there in the dark while she rants and raves about what a fool he is. Finally she slams the door shut and bolts it herself then one step at a time she carefully goes to the dark, sad place where Rock is lying patiently. She lifts him up and stares at him. It’s a lonely place without him, the all knowing piece of her, the one that takes over the helm when she is wrought with pain, physical, mental or emotional. She wants to thank him but chews on her fingers instead. Her hair is a tangled mess, just like her heart. Under her breath she whispers, “I love you Rock.”
Wander wander wanderer
She began looking as soon as she could see for Buses Full of Kids just like littleme Unloading Children Black as the night sea Eyes lookin' down at the dry cracked dirt white kids peeked from behind teacher's skirts Desks rearranged RULES Changed No Playdates, Same food, different plates Separate for lunches Same Lines Different Bunches Too small to understand? Naw WE KNEW Madness was made by ole men who wore red, white and blue They told white people lies while we watched the news Vietnam live, TV trays asn' little pot pies Little children listen to whispers and cries On the playground we mingled, We met on the swings, we touched hands, skin and learned to sing "You pretty, your hair is the colour of sand, you're so nice little "ma'am" "Don't say that, never again! I am like you, always your friend!" Wander Wander, Wanderer Still Life's a climb Up a downward hill Where are you girls, from the merry-go-round, where are the people who let us all down? Across the room I was pulled away, told to wait inside as you parted that day End of school, Nashville sun full I'd never see you again We were puppets of fools who built the scam DE-Segregation, a word we could not spell YOU 'RE still fighting your daily hell I live in a faraway life; I'd still risk anything to be by your side. Causes now, were causes then, oh my what I'd give to bring this to an end Shootings Shouting Dying Alone Black America is still my HOME. My skin doesn't match but I was there when we hugged one another, "we best friends" we touched each other's hair and shared from the start, pulled off the labels 'cause we were smart It was supposed to be better! Will it ever be that we can find each other and write long letters? Stupid southern haters, baiters that catered to leaders, make believers, nothing was real then or now we were not IN-TE-GRATED we were used, smoked and baited put together like N'awlean's blues Ole mammy, mammy blue little us, little you in grade three, cutting out snowflakes for the Christmas tree It was a sham, just like pot pies an' Vietnam I say your names in case you find me, Antonnette, Joyce and tiny Teena May where you are be good to you My little friends, I still love you
EVERY SINGLE THOUGHT
Each word in your brain has rolled through someone else’s also; mathematically it all adds up to who decides to believe in their own thoughts or who dismisses them not deeming their ideas worthy of following through with. Issaac Newton, Alfred Einstein, even THE Ben and Jerry who gave us our first taste of Chunky Monkey weren’t all knowing. What they were is quite simple, they were determined. None of them were afraid of being wrong or failing. There is still room for enlightenment as Marcus Aurelius would argue, God is all knowing, and we can’t possibly meet that Fantasia like phenomenon without having Faith. Faith is basically, hope. Hope is what we have when we are lost and need to be found, tired and need a hand, and Belief is when we truly think that Ben and Jerry, Newton, Einstein and God have one thing we lack. What is that thing? The dark and unanswered thoughts that rumble through our brains before bed, the tears we shed in silence, the fear of being dead or living fully as we are meant to live? What makes people need to hear from another repetition of old adages, religious philosophies, scientific explorations uncovered and more on phenomenal happenings? No two snowflakes are alike, but each snowflake has one thing in common, it’s a snowflake! No two brains or humans are alike, yet we are all part of an extraordinary experiment called life. Share your thoughts, the ego can fear rejection however the soul needs exceptions, the brain needs to question and solve. Our hands need to be held as we go through the same yucky crud that thousands upon hundreds of thousands have also gone through. Roll out those emotions through ArT, through words, through meanderings in the desert or forests, talk to your neighbour, run what’s in your head by another and there will be the likelihood of finding someone who believes in you just as much as I believe in Ben and Jerry’s.
Casper ‘s Image DALL·E 2
Curled around a group of birches, Casper’s tail sparkled in the morning sun. His thick, weathered skin was like brass gone green, he needed a good cleaning, his spikes were tipped with bits of the forests depths it had swept through for months. Leafy remnants, spider’s webs, dried clumps of mud and more. Casper needed a bath. In his heart he longed for his mother who had taught him to fly when small; together they’d play in a hidden lake in another forest, diving while making thunderous splashes, refreshing their moods along with cleansing themselves all at once. He’d lost his desire to travel after his mother died, often losing days to grieving. At night he would find some solace in the gaiety of the forest fairies zipping about in whirls of colour, the plump trolls who were busying themselves with dutiful quests to prepare for winter amused him, especially when they strapped themselves upon gangly beetles like cowboys off for a rodeo. Often the fairies would light upon his long-arched nose causing him to smile, even if only for a very little bit. Their fanciful colours brightened the darkness within the forest as well as his heavy heart, quieting his sadness. As the beetles marched one by one back to their nooks in dead oak trees, the trolls who had dismantled quickly carried on with their purpose. With tiny mounds of moss gathered for insulation, bound twigs hoisted up on their shoulders like seasoned lumberjacks, they were diligently focused on strengthening the walls in their miniscule cosy cottage as the frosty winds would soon be upon them all. Casper yawned letting out a steamy sigh; this warmed the trolls who had snuggled up to sleep away the new day rising and could already be heard snoring. Casper stood, breaking tree limbs with his large body, causing creatures to scurry quickly before he took a step. He was not up for a roar nor a test of his powers. He was hungry and had a very picky diet for a dragon of his size. He snacked on nuts, berries and occasional bird’s eggs which had hatched but still had some gooey insides and crunch to them. He never was able to kill the critters around him. He was, as much as a dragon could be, gentle. His one hankering however was fish. With his mother he would swoop down in the fresh lake, open his jaws wide like a giant whale at sea then let the water into his mouth, using his clenched teeth as a filter the small fish swam straight into his belly. His mother said that small fish were good for his health. Today he would try and lift his wings, fly to the hidden lake and revive his thirst again. In a meadow, he sprang into the sky, flocks of geese screeched and redirected their course as he flapped his velvety wings. He circled the lake slowly and was just about to make a heavy dive when he saw a small, yet taller than normal looking troll. He knew that the aftermath of his landing would hit the being like a tsunami so he settled carefully in a just big enough opening on the ground where he could have a closer look. This troll had water running from its eyes and curly rust coloured hair.
Casper had never seen such a smooth skinned troll. The trolls he knew had warts and thick red noses, wore rabbit fur robes and boots made of birch bark. This troll was spotted like a poisonous mushroom, had dark blue cloth from his waist down to his bare feet. Casper had not seen a troll’s feet or toes nor cared to. On his upper body was a red as a cherry cloth that covered the troll’s arms and neck. In his hand he held a stick with a string attached. Casper was quite impressed, being cautious not to make the sighing sound that made new creatures run away. He watched until the troll began to shiver as the sun was now lowering behind the tall firs around them. Why did the troll not run to his cottage, seek warmth and comfort like the other trolls from his forest? Casper carefully moved toward the water, still on the other side of the lake from this spotted creature. He quietly lapped up some water, or so he thought, and it caused a rather noticeable wave on the opposite shore. The troll jumped up, then leapt backwards and looked up and saw Casper’s big emerald eyes and made a sound that was like nothing he’d ever heard. It was so high pitched it made his senses heighten and he felt a bit frightened. “Mooooom!”, a sound came out of the mouth that reminded him of a baby dragon’s cry when left in the nest alone. Casper lowered his body and remained still intending to show that he meant no harm. Neither moved. The troll inched backwards and hid behind some brush, regularly peering out and having another peak at Casper. Night was coming fast; would this troll be okay in the darkness alone? Casper always slept in his own forest where all the creatures knew him, and he felt welcomed. Suddenly the troll threw a stone across the water, and it skipped and bounced like magic. Casper turned to see the troll do it again and again. Casper picked up a stone and tried but it just sunk to the bottom quickly. The troll made loud noises again, “Mooooom! It’s a dragon, a real dragon!” Casper waited to see another troll, but no one came. The troll was obviously beginning to shake more either in fear or due to having no birch boots like most trolls on his small white feet. Casper decided to let out a warming sigh which would roll across the lake and perhaps comfort him. A steam rose above the darkening lake and the troll felt the sensation, his shivering stopped, and his mouth opened wide without a sound. Then it yelled, “Are you a good dragon?” Casper couldn’t speak this being’s tongue and blew warm sighs of air again. “Thank you for warming me up, I mean unless you are about to eat me for dinner!” The troll jumped behind the bush again and called out, “Moooom!” Casper decided he should swim to the same side to have a better look. He rose carefully from the lake and laid his head upon the rocky edge. The troll looked out at him and threw a stone bigger than the others and it hit Casper in the eye. Casper made an “Ouch” sound that dragons make when hurt. “Oh. I hurt you?”; the strange troll emerged once again and began to babble on with so much speed that Casper wished he could shut down his sensitive hearing. Instead, he chose to move carefully down the stony shore onto softer ground and lay on his side to feign sleep. Perhaps the troll would stop making so much nonsensical noise now, however he kept one eye slightly open to be sure this weird little troll wasn’t going to throw more rocks at him. Darkness had come and the moon was not full. Casper’s eyes saw easily in the darkness, but not the trolls. He continued to pretend to sleep and felt the troll tug on his tail then rub his wings gently. The bothersome troll crawled up on his back and crept up his long neck then looked down at Casper’s eyelids. He felt the troll touch the place where the rock had hit him and in a low tone say, “Poor dragon, poor me, poor us.” Casper tried to be still, yet the trolls little cold feet tickled tremendously. He opened his eyes and there was the troll hanging upside down peering into his giant emerald eye. “Please don’t sleep, I’m scared!” Gibberish again. Water fell from the troll’s eyes and landed into Casper’s. A warm, faintly familiar magical moment happened right then and there. In that very second Casper understood. This troll missed his mother, too. Once more he let out a sigh to warm the air and the troll ran down his arched-nose and stood as close as he could in front of Casper’s good eye. Casper could see the troll’s face very well and sensed his desperation and stared wearily back at him. His thoughts were both kind and grouchy. “I never had my dinner because of you, so can you please get off my nose, close your eyes and sleep now?” Since dragon’s can’t speak his own irritation was unnoticed, quickly he softened and felt the tingling of sadness for his new, seemingly unshakable companion. “Please stay awake dragon!” Casper doubted he could make any sound so complicated but gave it a try with just one wish upon the twinkling stars above, “Make this most unusual, loud small toad of a troll disappear.” To his surprise the troll crawled on top of his head, slid down his neck then nestled in the softness of his left wing. Casper worked up the courage and sighed, feeling love rise from his heart and flow out easily. Without much effort he simply cared. No noise came from the troll. He turned his big head down and made out the wee one in his wing. He was fast asleep. Casper thanked the stars for granting him peace and carefully closed his eyes to rest. It was the first time in a very long, long time that Casper felt a sense of comfort inside and together they slept in peace. Dawn woke Casper and he looked down to check on the troll. What? He wasn’t there? Suddenly he heard a new sound, a windy sound that was quite jolly. He looked about and there at the lake’s edge was the little one with the stick he’d had when he first noticed him. He had a long string dangling into the water; he saw the stick jerk downwards then in one swift move the troll yanked the stick out of the water and there, flopping on the end was a small fish. The troll made more giddy sounds and put the fish on a large flat stone. Casper was ravenous by now and knew that one small fish might feed the troll but never him. He let out his morning soft roar and the little troll ran toward him. “I have to eat, and I can’t give up on my mom finding me.” He screamed loudly, “Moooom!” several times and then the water in his eyes began to fall. Casper so wanted to help the pathetic, lanky troll. Casper nudged with his nose as carefully as a giant dragon could for the troll to move away from the lake. He kept nudging him until he was safely away from the flood he was about to create. The troll understood Casper had good reason and obliged. Casper immersed his head under the water, opened his mouth allowing the fish to swim in, and for the first time he didn’t swallow them rather he spat them all out onto the shoreline and there were hundreds of them flapping about. He went down again and took a big belly full for himself then sighed with smelly warm fish breath toward the hungry troll. When the troll saw all the fish, he was exuberant, yet instead of eating them he began picking up downed tree limbs, pushing them into a pile, and striking two stones together. Casper must have seemed curious as the troll looked up and tried to explain fire by gesticulating the shape of flames and making noises that came out like POOF! Casper nudged a fish that had stopped flopping toward him. The troll shook his head and kept on with his task. Casper decided if he ate the fish then maybe the troll would eat the others brought up for him. In one quick lick the fish was gone. The stubborn troll kept at his strange task when suddenly a small spark appeared. Casper now realised that the troll wanted fire, like the ones in his forests made when they stayed up on special nights and played their wooden flutes and danced. Casper nudged the troll to move back, he was more assertive now and the troll understood to run. Casper took in a deep breath then with all his might he roared, fire shot out of his nostrils and the fish, well, they were without a doubt baked. He then watched as the small, thin and obviously starving troll munch on them spitting out the bones which Casper licked up and found quite tasty. There were far too many fish for one small troll. Casper knew the feeling of hunger, of missing a mother and yet, he could not stay in this forest for long as he recalled his mother always coaching him to look about for strange creatures who did not like dragons. As much as he wanted to help the small waif, he knew he had to return to his own forest. He tried as much as a dragon can to communicate with the little eyes as green as his own, with rusty curls falling over his forehead, tiny brown spots on his nose and cheeks, with the cold bare feet and teeny toes. Troll studied Casper. He was clearly trying, too. Just in that second of what one might call friendship, one full of caring and tenderness, trust and newness a loud clanging noise came from the far side of the lake. Casper had never been that far, and his tail thumped shaking the ground beneath them. The troll looked up and with his high-pitched scream called out to the noise. “I’m here! Next, they heard a sound that echoed with a deep stern voice, “Benny? Stay put boy and we will come to you”. The troll had water in his eyes and rubbed Casper’s nose, “You must go, they will hurt you.” Casper did not move. Then the boy pushed Casper as hard as he could repeatedly. Casper realised the small troll was nudging him for good reason, urging him to go. “No one will believe me when I try to say you are gentle.” The sounds from the troll were more like a plea now and Casper recalled once again his mother’s instructions. “This is not our forest; creatures here don’t like dragons.” Casper’s emerald eyes were full of water, too; his tears were like buckets of rain forming small ponds. He stood and was much higher than the treeline, there he could see a group of taller creatures like his wee troll coming fast. He bent down and let his friend kiss his eyelids then sprung up from the opening from where he had his first glimpse of this new, quite loveable strange new creature. Benny waved with both sadness and joy, for he had made a memory no one would ever believe and soon he, unlike Casper, would be reunited with his mother. Casper’s heart still felt warm for this special troll had given him reason to care again. The late morning sun shone beautifully upon his wings reflecting a deep purple hue. Good things can still happen and just for fun he roared as loud as he could in a very long time. Although nearing his own forest, the lost troll could hear Casper and jumped into his mother’s arms and said, “I really was saved by a dragon!”; the mother smiled at her sweet son’s vivid imagination and held him tight. Casper vowed to return to the lake now, perhaps the spotted troll would, too. As he lay gently down in his usual spot in his own forest, fairies circled around him, delighted he was back. The small trolls in their rabbit fur coats and birch boots looked at him with relief. They too needed his warm sighs to lull them to sleep. Benny promised his mother to never run off from camp on his own to fish again without telling a grown-up. However, he knew, without a doubt he would return one day and so would Casper.
Cold Moon Sight
Moon Light, Cold Eye of Eternal, Emerging Goddess, Aware of Me, a Coyote’s howl under Frosty Pines; Moon Light, Cold Eye of Universal Goddess, Aware of You, too. She Shines on Gray Wolverines, Bones from Wings, Buried Beneath Barren Aspen Who Sleep. Moon Light Still, Our Oasis! Mighty Universe Releases Tiny Drops of Mystery Moon Light Glow, Embossing the Frozen Creek, Jagged Brightness Decorates the Peaks. Moon Light Dusts the flightless, hooved tracks with brightness. Moon Light, Cold Eye of Goddess, Aware of All Beneath This Hard Dirt Who Lay Quietly, Stolen or Willingly. Do You Still Seek Love? Do you Hear Midnight Yelps of Hyper Furry Runts Leaping Above? Listen, do you hear the Hungry Deer, Moose Meandering Above You in the Moon Light? Can You Smell the Love of the Almighty Breath of Eternal Life; Are You Aware of the Moon Light Dusting Your Grave, Touching Your Shrine Bouncing and Playing in Your Spirit? Lyrical Lunar Moon, Night Light Cold Tunes Of Old Songs Sung by the REnewed Oasis in the Night Goddess of Our Deeper Sight.