"memory is short and terribly fickle. Janine di Giovanni

I don't know when my memory began to fade. It was one of those things that happens all gradual like, you know, kind of like a big boat sinking. It doesn't sink fast, it starts off real slow but given time it will eventually find the bottom of the deep blue sea. Yup, that's how it happened, one day things were real clear but as more and more days past, I found I couldn't so easily recall what came before.

I still remember the love of my life, Edward Stilton. Eddie was a fine upstanding man, replete with morals and values a girl could rely on. We lived together happily for nigh on 63 years before he passed. I held him close as he died and I knew I would never find another soul as good or pure as his. I guess I wished I died with him in many ways but ain't that just the walk of grief a calling" Mourning ain't got a time-frame and it ain't a pretty dancing partner but everyone has to deal with it eventually.

I admit he was the most compatible creature for me. Ain't a lot of those around, let me tell you! I got me a fiery temper and quite a mouth. Never did know when to shut up. It's gotten me into quite a few pickles over my time. I know because Eddie used to say that to me with a wide grin and his hearty chuckle. He thought I was quite the character but he loved me all the more for it.

I remember after he passed I was adrift. I found myself a wandering "round Rhy"Din looking for " I don't rightly recall. I assume for something familiar to give me reason to remain" What I found was a lamb. No, not the human sort like as in a long lost little lamb of a person, a real lamb. I named her Memsy. I don't know why, maybe I just liked the name"

We needed a roof over our sorry heads so I found a rundown abandoned cottage and began fixing it up. It was in right bad shape, and needed a lot of work. I knew it would take me a while but it was in a good location, only a few miles from the Inn, (Red Dragon Inn), in the heart of what would later become the Old Temple District. Thing is, it had a nice little shed that was much easier to renovate and made a perfect, warm home for Memsy.

I needed money though. Eddie was a fine man, that's true, but he wasn't a wealthy one.

I began growing food for me and Memsy. I had a green thumb I came to understand and I grew a right fine fruit and vegetable garden. I had the best Strawberries this side of the Port, Stars End Port that is. My watermelons were quite juicy and sweet too. My potatoes were on the large side but I saw that as lagniappe although some of the locals accused me of using spells. Yeah, Ms. Money bags I was too! Me using spells"! To buy "em you need cold hard coin. I barely had a silver to my name. Besides I didn't need spells to make my garden grow, I had Memsy. Yup, she had multi uses that little lamb did.

"Mo, damnit! Why won't you talk to me"! It's important' She was back and apparently she's madder than ever. Well, there's something to be said about persistence. But there's also something to be said about crackpots and where people like to put "em.

I wish I could say I could ignore the ranting of the mad spirit and continue with my tale, alas, I am far too easily derailed. I must say, I was enjoying our little walk down what?s left of my memory lane. I look mighty forward to picking it up again soon. In the meantime, I am going to try to distract myself with a little painting. Maybe the ghosty will catch a clue or maybe? I'll go see a man about a dog and it won't matter no more.

(To be continued")

We are such stuff as dreams are made on... William Shakespeare

Last night I dreamt I was a tree...

I had the perfect spot, in a valley beside a lively creek, protected from the storms and howling winds by high mountains all around. The creek babbled and burbled to me day and night, telling stories of the places it had been and excited about the places it imagined lay before it. Birds came and went, sharing their songs as they migrated from north to south, then back again. Small animals occasional made me their home, building nests in my branches or borrowing into the notches in my ever-widening trunk. With each new house-guest the notches were worn a tad bit smoother than they had been before, making it more comfortable for the next tenant I imagined. I liked the company of my house-guests. In the distance, lower down in the valley's depths, I saw much larger creatures as they meandered here and there. I reasoned they searched for food as the birds did and, on rare occasion, wondered why they never came up my side of the gentle slopes.

I was happy and content tucked away in my valley beside my friendly creek. I sunk my roots deep into the fertile soil, letting it nourish and feed me. I raised my branches high to catch the sunlight and the gentle, wandering breezes. In the spring beautiful white flowers hung from me, in the summer acorns would drop and roll hither and dither. In Autumn my leaves turned lovely colors, from rich reds to burnt oranges. In the winter all the leaves would fall and I slipped into a deep slumber until spring awoke me with fresh green growth.

I luxuriated in the glory of life, of my life in particular. I never pondered upon the tales shared by my traveling friends or found myself curious about the other places of which they spoke because I did not once wish myself elsewhere. I loved my spot by the creek, in the valley that protected and nurtured me. I couldn't imagine being elsewhere for surely this was Nirvana.

As time passed, I grew into a tall, majestic White Oak, surrounding myself with many children. Born of my seeds some thrived, some did not. My lower branches thickened until they were too heavy and ponderous for me to hold aloft so they dipped to graze the grassy ground. My chatty creek began to widen. It grew into a river, slow moving at first but too soon it roared with ferocity and swirling currents. The stories it now told were scary and terrifying; of melting snows and treacherous rains, of storms that covered large swatches of land deep in water and destructive whirling winds. No more murmurs of contentment just the booming and crashing of chaos. The weather was becoming cooler, though the sun shone as bright as it always had. The biggest change were the two-legged creatures that came to the valley to make it their new home.

They looked bedraggled, nearly worn thin as they trudged through the grasslands. Thin, reedy creatures rootless as they were they could easily be blown away by a strong wind. They came from the north where rain fell frozen or so said the booming river. They made their huts out of stones and mud. They placed seeds in the earth and carefully tended them. They hunted the large creatures that roamed in the valley below with crude, vicious weapons. They used the creatures' skins for covering themselves and for lying upon. They built fires to chase away the darkness and they placed what was left of the creatures upon it. Then they feasted on the charred remains. All of this was whispered on the leaves of my children.

Then came the horrifying news: the two-legged creatures' fires were fed by our young, those nearest to them. I watched as the great forest, my children, their children and so on and so on, began to thin to serve the needs of the two-legged invaders. I knew fear for the first time. There were many of us now, but as each tree fell, it was only a matter of time before they came for me too. They seemed to have an unquenchable need for more and we grew slowly; surely we could not repopulate fast enough to sate their needs.

Seasons passed as I watched more and more of my offspring vanish under sharpened stones tied to the remains of their brethren. Over time I realized they were not taking the whole of the forest. They were picking and choosing. The reasoning they used was beyond me and those left of my offspring. I still tasted fear as I awaited what I believed was our certain fate.

At long last, they came upon me. My leaves trembled and my branches swayed with trepidation as they moved around me. They displayed an unexpected awe and awkward gentleness that surprised and confused me. I nor my children had seen such a display from them before. Their language was little more than grunts and murmurs, so very unlike the birds or small animals. I didn't understand. I waited for their sharpened stones to bite into my trunk as it had in so many of us already, but instead they knelt down and pressed their heads to the moist earth that fed me. I was confounded by their odd behavior but then everything they did seemed foreign and bemusing to me.

They left to return the following day with others. These new faces were bent over, crooked, their skin etched with lines and the moss that grew atop their heads was gray and thin. The others treated them differently, they treated them as my offspring treated me. These new faces caressed the smooth bark of my trunk before running down over my lowered branches. They murmured at me in soft respectful whispers that was nothing more than guttural gibberish to me.

Whatever had happened to stay their hand, I may never truly understand. But I was one of the lucky chosen; the few that escaped the fate of felling. But I did not escape the bite of the sharpened stone. Throughout the passing weeks the wrinkled grey mossy ones came and cut patterns deep into my thick, wide trunk. They rubbed a gritty ash into the cuts. I could not see them, nor did they cause me pain, I knew not why they marked me. I was grateful they did not cut me down and burn me in their fires.

During the following seasons, the patterns they'd cut upon my trunk, once fresh, raw and filled with the ashy substance, bloomed with bright green lichen. It oddly glowed white during the darkest of nights. They would come to me at the height of the full moon, and at it's lowest ebb. They would bring fresh fruits and lay them reverently on the soil before me. They would whisper their words over and over again, while caressing the patterns they'd laid upon me.

Gradually, over time I began to find myself changing. It was slow and creeping like an invasive fungus. I began to interpret the language of the two-legged creatures, to recognize words. As I became more than I had been I began to understand what they wanted from me.

The fear still lingered and now it became more amplified. With my growing awareness a new kind of terror was born. I realized that they thought me more than I most certainly was; I was not this Goddess they perceived. I had no power over earth or the weather, or their two-legged lives. But I did understand their needs and desires; the things they asked of me.

They wished for such small graces, the same I wished for myself and my offspring. For a rich harvest, a good spring, a lingering summer, a gentle fall and winter. All the things I once thrummed into the earth through my thick and long roots for me and my children and I now I thrummed it for the two-legged creatures as well. It was the least I could do for their cautious if suspicious care of those of us they'd deign to leave intact.

My thoughts continued to bloom, as did my curiosity. I found myself pondering from whence these creatures had come and if there were more of them. I began to contemplate upon the tales told by traveling friends, of foreign lands and creatures I had yet to see. I dreamt of lives I had never lived, of places unseen, and knowledge unknown. I felt a yearning unfamiliar as worlds opened before me. All these things had never haunted my existence before. I was changing, but into what I could not fathom.

As time passed, the elders died off and new faces with different voices took their place. Their whispers were much the same; a rich harvest, a good spring, a lingering summer, a gentle fall and winter, yet these new faces wanted more. War, enemies, destroy. I did not understand what they wanted, these were not words I had heard before and I had no context for them. Nor did I want any for their faces twisted and their tones grew hostile and cruel when they made these requests. I began to despair and the thrumming ceased as I struggled to interpret what was happening. I missed the original Elders and mourned their loss. I wished fervently for their return.

Then came the deep winter where no spring or summer followed.

The moons came and went and still no change in the dire weather. My offspring were sturdy enough to withstand the cold. The two-legged creatures were not faring as well. They came once again with their sharpened stones and cut down the children whom they once revered. Many fell during that dark, cold time. Grief overtook me as it never had before. I felt a new kind of desperation as I watched them kill my offspring and the dawning of something darker, anger bloomed inside me.

In the deep darkness of the blackest night, in the thick of what should-have-been summer, they came to me with desperate eyes and faces twisted with fear. They carried one of their young with them. They placed the child on the ground before me, like they had once offered me their fruits. They begged in hoarse, grief-filled whispers for me to bestow my grace once again. They begged me forgiveness. Then slit open the child's throat and spilled it's blood upon the soil.

My soil!

My once fertile soil now befouled by such abhorrent darkness! It moved through the hard packed earth towards me like a snake would slither through the long grasses; threatening and persistent. I knew it would creep into me if I did not do something! I waited until they were gone at last, for I had begun to think they would never leave. The dead child lay before me like a broken branch, it filled me with such anger and disgust as I had never known. It fueled my resolve. How could they respect my offspring when they treated theirs with so little regard"! With all my might, by sheer force of will, I pulled my roots free of the tainted soil and with grim determination began my journey down the river, forward towards a new haven " one not tainted and befouled by darkness or those barbaric and cruel two-legged creatures. A place where my children could once again flourish without fear.

(To be continued...)