#FWF Kellie Elmore

Source: We Heart It

 

Hello? Rhia a tall young woman with beautiful red hair, trailing down her back, was taking a walk past fields of grass through the lush green forest when she stopped short in front of the most beautiful image she had ever seen. She gasped, just staring at this magical wagon, with different colors, different textures. She said “Hello? again.” It was odd, she was sure she could hear whispers and giggling but she didn’t see anyone around. She felt incredibly safe so she climbed up the steps and peered into the wagon.

Rhia was a quiet but very strong young woman, having lived on the streets and shelters before, but as soon as she got to the top step she suddenly she felt a rush of happiness and love enveloping her. She never felt this feeling before. She walked around the carriage noticing the brilliant colors and daring to touch the lovely, embroidered, velvet and cotton and silk fabrics. She listened closely the sounds that the bells made swinging in the air.

 

 

She KNEW she had to know more about this magical place, she couldn’t leave, she would not leave for anything in the world. Her life, in the past had always been disconnected, she loved no one, no one loved her. She had never known what happiness was but she was beginning to think that a miracle had happened.

Today was the first day she felt a thrill of excitement and joy, her life was, from one minute to the next, blooming in vivid colors. She was part of a tapestry of richness and the Earth, magic, starlight, sun, moon. Immediately, her dull, tough, cold past and all that she once knew disappeared. She couldn’t remember anything that had happened before this day, but she knew by the way her heart was warming up inside her, she had just arrived home.

Rhia had been a wanderer before this, a sad, lonely young teen with fiery red hair trailing down her back. She had been born to live with nature, and as soon a she entered the wagon, she met a beautiful, mystical woman who she felt an immediate connection with, her name was Mother Ash. Ash and Rhia had been searching for each other for so many years not that they knew it, until they met that day and then they knew they would never be apart, not for a single day.

Together, they lived in the magical wagon with animals as their extended family to keep them company, to give them a home, to feed each other to sing songs together at night, to wake up together in the glorious sunshine.

A wolf was their best friend, and a furry-red haired fox that they knew must have been one of Rhia’s younger siblings, their hair was so similar.

Red fox. Picture from Skandinavisk Dyrepark, D...

Two large dogs stayed with them to protect them and keep them warm and two goats named Larry and Lena provided milk and home-made honey-lavender ice cream. The bees that swarmed were friendly, offering honey and among the grass precious plants grew, sweet-smelling lavender, mint and chives, dill and there was a huge vegetable garden that could keep them eating happily for months. They had eggs and cheese and of course they had no meat, how could they eat their friends?

The wagon never moved, except in their imagination. They didn’t want to hurt horses by making them pull, horses were their friends. Finally, when Rhia and Ash had lived there for three weeks and three days, the faeries and gnomes, feeling satisfied, presented themselves to Rhia and Ash. They had to be sure that these were the right people and of course they were.

At night, you could hear music that the animals played together, the sweet sound of the faeries giggling around the circle that they made, music played by the owls in their trees, the birds tweeting their flutes and the squirrels banging softly on their drums.

Rhia and Ash lived there forever, with more and more animals joining them, the sky in the morning was sunny every day, the night ended softly, phasing out with a beautiful blend of colors, a gorgeous sunset, that all the friends sat together and waved to say good-night to the sun.

 

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Carry on Tuesday: Once Upon A Time

Miss Haxby is holding a newborn baby that is i...

Miss Haxby is holding a newborn baby that is in an incubator at the Toronto Western Hospital in Toronto, Ont (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In 1956 there was a child born six weeks premature, it was the first time the child’s mom had worn a borrowed maternity dress to a party. Doctors back then were strict about weight gain so she wasn’t really showing at all. After every appointment with her Obstetrician, she treated herself to a chocolate ice cream soda, a delicious, frosty treat that she looked forward to every two weeks.

Once at the party she wasn’t feeling well but had no idea she was in labor until her friend, Claire, suggested she sit in the chair and she timed the odd cramps, soon it was off to the hospital. Claire drove her to the hospital while Claire’s husband, Teddy drove her husband. Her husband hadn’t even tasted his favorite German potato salad yet, I’d imagine, he was a bit disappointed.

They arrived at the hospital and the mom was rushed into the delivery room, she hadn’t expected to be giving birth six weeks early. The labor was fast and soon, a 4 pound, 6 ounce tiny baby girl was born. The mother said she “looked like a plucked chicken.” Dad apparently said to “Uncle Teddy “how cute can you get.” Uncle Teddy told that part of the story every time he saw the little girl until he could no longer speak. It was “their” story.

It turned out that the dad visited the little girl in the hospital, on his way home from the subway every night. He looked through the window and tapped the glass, it was in the late 50’s and he couldn’t do much more than that but him telling her that he was there every night made her feel good. Mom’s story was that she never visited because “there was nothing she could do” a story she changed recently when speaking to the child’s older sister.  She hadn’t visited; why would she have told the ugly truth so many times before? Did she want to rewrite history? Maybe. All of a sudden she was feeding that baby, bottles every other day. The sister just wanted to help but the child knew her mother was lying. It was okay, it just seemed pointless. Why bother now? Maybe it was guilt or she wanted to right a wrong or maybe in her mind, she decided that she wanted to remember it that way. One’s history is really made up of interpretation from others and ourselves.

Once upon a time had happened already, the child had accepted the parameters of her relationships with both her parents, with her Uncle as well. You can’t rewrite history. You just have to accept it for what it was, like she had done, all those years ago and then slowly, quietly, tiptoe, on soft, gray, stocking feet, walk away.