The tale of WOOD CRAFTING resumes with the stitching together of two beings from opposite sides of the cosmos. The installment that follows reveals the character and grace of these beings and weaves as well the signs and indications of space out of balance. Elders will share clues to the changing reality and destiny will proceed with the sharing of a meal.
Since this venue of publishing leaves an opening for me to speak to my reader as if we were chatting in a sort of book-club, I will tell you (if you have a thought to question this) this novella/fairy tale was not outlined and thought out before hand instead it was as Jane Yolen writes on her blog/notes to writers,
I generally do not think out plots or characters ahead of time. I let things roll along. Organic is the word I use for this. But actually I do it because I am a reader before I am a writer. I want my own writing to surprise me, the way someone else's book does. If I think out everything ahead of time, I am--in Truman Capote's words--"Not a writer but a typewriter."
To the outside eye this may seem a lazy way to write. It drives anyone I work with crazy. But I have learned to trust those intuitive moments when stories seem to leak from my fingertips.
This story did pour through me like warmed chocolate.-MC
Written by Mokihana Calizar
Please enjoy the tale for your own pleasure,
but do not reprint it or copy it for any other purpose without permission from the author.
Back at the meadow where my mother and father shared their first meal, the morning light and the energy of growing love fed the bond between Freeilll and Shemaladia. Bidding each a knowing nod, Oona tipped her head in Somaia’s direction and the new friends flew off to Oona’s treetop to leave my parents to their destiny. Time passed without notice as Freeilll recounted his message from the great sea turtle. Shemaladia listened with concern as she realized the signs of change. Warming oceans, tiny hatchling and indications of tidal upheavals meant life as Wood Crafters knew it would become different. Her life as huntress of lost souls with hearts darkened made her intimately aware of those who had eaten of riches at the expense of another, with no permission sought, love felt or prayers in offer. Freeilll Noa of the
Freeilll Noa considered the implication of these answers, and of course so had my mother. She had more questions. “Since that incident have the winds been …” Before she could finish my father finished for her. “The winds have been asleep elsewhere.” The winds of Ever have been known to take brief holiday, gathering energy or enjoying the company of a particularly delicious placement in the Cosmos. But those holidays are predicable and never long enough to cause harm. “When did you and Honu notice the ocean had become warmer than usual?” My father replied without hesitation, “The full moon following Dontanea’s fall.” Somaia and I were already in flight when Honu called from the black lava tide pools of her birth. Rarely will she summon, and never had Freeilll Noa been called to the Black Pool. “Mother, the night passes beautifully and always it is a pleasure to spend time with you. How does the night pass with you?” The elder of oceans was always pleased to hear her favorite grandson’s thoughts. Through the ages, turtles and birds have shared an uncommon bond and a coil of genes allowed a blend of heritage with a small band of Wood Crafters. Linked as they were by that gene, my father never questioned Honu. Few of the young Wood Crafters of the
Shemaladia was entranced. The teachings of a Grey were broad and unique to each strand of covey throughout Ever. Special connections such as Honu’s lineage with the Wood Crafter Noa were not unheard of, though it was truly uncommon. For a very long time my mother looked silently at the man whom destiny had selected as her mate. Freeill Noa accepted the long assessing look, assured in his soul, and appreciative of the magnificent being who would share the rest of his destiny. Shemaladia absorbed the outer look of Freeilll’s body beginning with the crown of feathers that grew tight almost scale-like against his broad high forehead. The tips of his ears rose from the feathers in sharp contrast to the bill that dropped from his face … a silvery spoon of a bill. She tried to imagine the twins who would come from their mating. Strong wing feathers and the broad chest of a Grey tapered to a narrow tail. His talons were exactly the same color as his bill with claws covered with the tightly grown scale-like feathers as on his head. By this time, my father could not resist being the one with questions, “Shemaladia of Osprey have you assessed to your satisfaction? Are there questions that go unanswered?” Without a skip of the heartbeat She asked, “How does your coil of the Honu remain with your physical body?” My father’s answer was quick; no hesitation passed as he lifted his wings and drew them forward. As if witnessing a magical conjuring Shemaladia watched as Freeilll Noa canted the words that shifted his wings into the great flippers that mark the ocean’s diver of the deep. The silent prayer converted my father’s physical being further as my mother watched in reverence; the swallow like ears compressed into barely visible orifice and the silver talons drew into body leaving each claw barely visible in artful camouflage available for grasping. “In this manifestation, my lungs which you cannot see without dissecting me or viewing with the eye of Ever, become those of my great mother. I am able to swim underwater leagues at a time on one breath and though I am not graced with a shell like the great mother, a Grey such as I will not loose body heat while submerged, the feathers of my body calcify like shell and protect me from the unpredictable, and the ears of re-known remain capable of hearing thoughts as well as song.” “Wonderful,” my mother said as she walked proudly into my father’s unfolding wings. Freeilll Noa of the