Winter

All of a sudden, I don't like winter.  Even my brain feels Arctic blasted, fingers and toes can't really warm up and the words seem to be lost in the labyrinthical igloos of iceberg lands.  Where they shouldn't be, of course!  And where I am not.
So, I'll be building bridges from the sugary frosted world to the icebergs, attach the trolls, and invite the words to gently return to their meaning, senses, feelings and all the dreams they might want to define...

Meanwhile, today remains frozen.

Courageous

Far, far away, beyond the blue oceans that eye can’t contain, mind can’t see, and arm can’t reach, there was a country.  Beautiful, like a piece of heaven, with people who liked to wear their hearts on their sleeves.

Closer than the country, there was a village with the lushest green trees which made tunnels as they were holding hands, embroidering the dusty country roads.

In that happy village, there lived a little girl named C.  C had golden hair and she was sure she lived in a golden world.  C could see with her hazel eyes, C could smell the flowers in her grandma’s garden, C could taste the whispering clouds if she wanted to, C could hear the wind dancing and the rain dreaming at her window, on cozy nights.

Like every golden little girl, C had a dog named F, for he was funny, but always faithful.  C and F laughed every day, and ran in the wheat field behind their farm, and played… for their world was filled with wonders.  But what C loved the most was to hide in the wheat field and wait for F to find her.  Once in a while she would stand really, really tall and laugh with all her heart, until hundreds of birds would burst out of the field, all around her.

One sunny day, as C was eating an apple from the orchard, and her dog F was watching her contently, time has come for C to prove her name also stood for courageous. 

Grandma M and grandpa G were out in the fields that day, working with the rest of the farmers, and, as lunch was approaching , C was to walk a really long way, to find them and bring them fresh cold water and a warm, delicious lunch.

C finished her apple and had a really close talk to her dog F, so close no one could hear a word, whispering in his soft furry ear, looking him in the eyes, then whispering some more.  F was a faithful dog, so he gladly agreed he was to come along.

C took the lunch pail and fresh water and off they went. 

The trees were closely watching her, the sky seemed so far away and the clouds were suddenly gone.  But C knew she was to be brave.  A bunny sprang from the side of the road and two horses pulling a carriage galloped by, then away...  Silence…  C never left the road and her heart was growing smaller by the minute, for she knew she would have to make it past the mean dogs.  On the left side of the road stretching low to the ground, there were some white buildings, where later she learned some people called communists, were collecting farm animals, and other, rather sad people, took care of them.  But the worst part was the communists had fierce dogs.  Every time someone dared to walk by, the dogs would walk toward you barking and showing their teeth.  C could already see the buildings, and even though she was walking on the other side of the road, as far from them as she could, her hand was shaking on the lunch pail.  Faithful dog F was right behind her, and didn’t look a bit afraid.  Soon enough, the communist dogs showed up and started running toward C and faithful dog F.  F jumped in front of C and with the loudest growl she had ever heard him make, he stopped the dogs and, as he looked them straight in the eyes, he somehow made them squeak some pitiful sounds and all together run away.  C was so relived and delighted at her faithful dog F!  She hugged his neck, stroke his head and told him how she loved him so much.  Faithful dog F smiled his own smile, and said he had already known…

Now the field stretched before their eyes, bathed in sunshine, and the cheerful sound of bees buzzing by, crickets hopping in the tall grass, and summer lazily taking its siesta with humming echoes flying by.  Two fluffy clouds started walzing each other, and then they stopped, to watch a pretty bird singing so beautifully, as he was looking for grains in the fields.

C could already see her grandma and grandpa and the rest of the farmers, and their straw sunhats going down, coming up again, out of the field.

She sang a joyful song all the way and her faithful dog F followed along.  And as she reached her grandma and grandpa, and watched their dear faces sip the fresh cold water, in delight, C knew her name would also stand for Courageous from that moment on.

Now, if you ever happen to sail beyond that blue ocean and see the golden land, and if you stand really, really tall, you might still find the little girl C and her faithful dog F running in the field, laughing and singing along. 

But if you don’t, it’s probably because that particular day, they both decided to play hide and seek instead.

THE END.

© 2011 Cristina Miller   

A Feather on the Breath of God

"Listen: there was once a king sitting on his throne. Around him stood great and wonderfully beautiful columns ornamented with ivory, bearing the banners of the king with great honor. Then it pleased the king to raise a small feather from the ground, and he commanded it to fly. The feather flew, not because of anything in itself but because the air bore it along. Thus am I, a feather on the breath of God."                                                                                                                                   Hildegard of Bingen. Life has a certain way of giving and taking away, I see the mountains in the distance, I marvel at their beauty and trust or maybe just hope sometimes... that I can reach their tops.  Then life decides to give me valleys, and valleys are good, I can grow flowers (while the mountain terrain could only blossom a very few varieties), I can imagine fields of sunshine and the child who used to hide in the wheat fields and marvel at the clouds...  sometimes valleys give me time to rest.  Rest my thoughts, rest my arms and legs tired of climbing, rest my soul in the cozy valley...  Sometimes they teach me to be humble, have patience, learn to truly love and see the mountains from a different perspective... Then I remember that I can rest in the valley and climb the mountains, because God breathed.  He breathed and His breath became beauty, He breathed and the world filled up with His presence, and one tiny breath, He breathed to allow me to be and to breathe on my own... "I am the feather under the breath of God"... Feathers fly and their hearts are light, feathers know the wind and dance when they are moved, feathers shine in the light and don't hurt.  They rest easily on wounds, they embrace the air as they gently swing to their place... Last night I dreamed I was the feather, and in my dream I embraced the wind, resting in the valley, rejoicing in the mountains, flying to the top of the clouds where grandma once told me all angels lived, where fields of wheat come back to life, where God breathed and feathers came down like snowflakes on our world of dreams. © 2011 Cristina Miller