the storyteller

She lives in the high, quiet heartland. The place where continents met and lifted each other in an ancient dance, a dream out of the deep ocean of sky, moon, stars. She lives in the mountains.




This is where the dark winds are born. She opens her windows and they tumble through. And the thin, faded wallpaper on her wall stirs. Once it was roses. Once it was an idea of beauty she thought was important. But she has watched it fade just as she has watched her own skin darken, and she knows - beauty is what lies inside mountains, inside women. It's that dance which lifts the world.




For the first half of the day, she brings things in. Eggs, wood, scents, wind-dropped dreams, homegrown vegetables. For the second half, she lets them go. Pie, fire, stories on wrinkled paper that barely takes the typewriter ink, soup. She breathes in, she breathes out. She feels forlorn, and remembers the city, all the hopes it promised ... and she lets them go. Up here she is hopeless, she is free, she is herself.

A woman with mended skirts and too long hair (or perhaps she cuts it all off in one great moment of practicality and thinks, that's better) and stories piling up in boxes under her bed. The children will read them. And if they don't it doesn't matter. She reads them, and she tells them to the wind so it will spread them - dreams for the dreamers in the lowlands, along the coasts. She is satisfied, she knows her work is done.

And at night she sleeps in the stir and the sighing, in the creak of mountains and the tumblesong of stars. There, between earth and heaven, she is content to spend her time.

She is who I might have been, under different circumstances.


8 comments:

  1. Oh, lovely. And now I think of writing who I might have been, under different circumstances...

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  2. Might have been... yet we are they, those dream beings. Forever, in our hearts and souls, where we truly live.
    Beautiful post.

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  3. A beautiful piece of writing Sarah.

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  4. "Up here she is hopeless, she is free, she is herself." and "She is who I might have been under different circumstances."

    I think a lot about circumstances and what little influence I have over them. There is freedom in letting go of the illusion of control.

    Just beautiful, Sarah--your words, pictures, everything.♥

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  5. such a beautiful read
    at first i thought this line: It's that dance which lifts the world.
    was my favorite, then i kept ready
    i love the part about bring things in and then the second half of the day.
    so beautiful.

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  6. A beautiful place, and lovely sentiments...

    Cielo

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