Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=DUST. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES.  (Link goes active Wed night).

Cat sits comfortably curled about himself in the square of Autumn sun, his tiny snore and twitching legs causing a greater swirl of dust motes that dance and dream and foretell of future hunts.

Esme smiles, coughs because her corporeal self wishes to remind her that though her mind is clear and her heart is open, she’s not back to full health and strength, thus not yet ready for a new venture. She decides to draw a single card, without the help of her familiar; his wellness precedes her own well-being and she takes this as a metric of challenges to come.

Pulling the Ace of Swords confirms her intuition.

The boredom of so much self-focus is getting to her, and the collections of cross-culture grimoires lent to her by Brother Frankincense are definitely not singing a siren’s song.

Quietly she steps away from the window and around the cat who has loosened into a croissant of contented kitty and makes her way out to the garden scrying pool behind the many-roomed cottage; time to check in on what her sisters are doing in their various homes.    

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2026)