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Laurel cherished these times of connection with the ancestors, seeing and hearing in ways that she could not with her living family.
And yet, were her living family to follow her through the moisture-slimed tunnels and over the cold sand, down the granite hill that led to the underground pool, their senses would have been too much dulled by the buzzing, blooming confusion of the world above. Even by lantern’s glow and luminous rocks to mark their passage, they would be lost. Continue reading
She knew the caverns like the back of her hand at this point, and was able to navigate to the furthest reaches, into the darkest corners, without need of light. Continue reading
I lift my paddle for a moment, hearing but not noting the drip of water that slides off its smooth, blond curve. My canoe slices through the morning cool, bisecting and self-healing the waters as I pass. Below the dark water, silent lake grass caresses sand and small, secret pebbles. Continue reading
The days were endless, the nights not long enough. She was tired, but too well-rested. She had all she needed to restore her health, but was weary of doing the work to rejoin the world.
I dreamt last night of snow.
A thin blanket over vibrant late summer.
Silent white, still as death,
Satisfying in its containment.