The Valley

Magpie Tale #98

Still.

That’s what it is up here. Oh, there’s a cool breeze the plays with the leaves, but it dies quickly. And a few birds join it every now and then and I think I saw a squirrel a while back. But down in the valley, there’s all the movement. Constant, obvious movement. It starts with the river that cuts the valley in half, and flows fast. Horses stamping and tossing their heads, dogs running between legs and once in a while I can see a cat dart through the crowd. The people mill around; from up here it seems senseless, but I suppose they know what they’re doing.

Yes, it’s very still up here. And quiet. I can’t hear the clamor coming from the valley floor. The shouting, and barking dogs and neighing horses and clashing metal. All I can hear are a few birds. The wind. The crunch of snow as my comrades left; it was quiet enough that I could hear it. The waterfall as it plunges into the river. No, I can’t hear that, it’s too far. But I like to think I can.

I have a good view of the mountains on the other side of the valley. Sharp peeked and with lingering snow, just like the ones on my side. But it’s spring now not winter. Even the aspens have leaves, so it’s no longer just the pines that are green. I say it’s spring; it’s spring up here. Cold and fresh and clean with the glint of snow; damp and moist. Down in the valley it’s already been spring and now it’s summer and hot and dry. I could almost be glad to be up here.

Stillborn, that’s how I think of the valley. It could have been beautiful. I think it wanted to be beautiful. But it’s in the wrong place. This valley, it’s the only pass through these mountains. It’s been eager to welcome everyone who passes through. The people haven’t been welcoming though. And whenever the valley seeks to give life, it gets death. Oh, yes, there’s been battles here, famous ones. Guntram died here. And so did Ratimir and Fenrir and Cynbel. The great sword Amund was broken here. There’ll be more; like as not we’ll have one before summer’s over. That’s why I’m up here; keeping watch.

Of Shoes and Hearts

shared with dVerse

A silver shoe abandoned on the stair
A token to be followed through the night
Single shoe and lonely heart each pining for its pair
A silver shoe abandoned on the stair
Once the mate was found - there
Two broken hearts would heal and reunite
A sliver shoe abandoned on the stair
A token to be followed through the night

Behind These Doors

Magpie Tale #96

Shared with dVerse

You really want to come in here?
Really?
Are you sure you know what’s behind these doors?


Are you sure it’s only old garden tools
Shovels and rakes and the push lawn mower,
Broken pots nestled among spider webs?


Do you know that it’s not a dragon’s horde,
Gleaming gold and strands of pearls piled above clean white bones,
Rusted daggers and helmets and polished shields?


Are you sure it’s only the beach things,
The surfboard and colored towels
Buckets for sandcastles and shell collections?


Do you know that it’s not a magician’s hideaway,
Where you’ll find him bent over cracked leather spell books
Bubbling red potions and a talking raven for company?


Are you sure it’s only the winter supplies
A green snow blower, ice skates and snow shoes
The toboggans, boots, and sleds?


Do you know that it’s not a doorway to faerie,
A portal to emerald meadows where unicorns roam
An invitation to a dance that never ends?


Haven’t you ever wondered,
What else could be behind these doors?
Are you sure you want to know?