Thursday, July 5, 2007

Routine of Days



She circles back to where she started, the grendel retreating toward its cave, elusive.

Each morning, she enters the enchanted wood alone and unarmored, her red hood just coming back pale and baby fine. Armed only with a basket scented of butter and fresh custard, she appears defenseless, naked bait hinging the release of the sorcerer-engineer's trap each time the grendel's jaws snap beside her ear while she struggles against its cruel embrace.

From high within his tower, the sorcerer-engineer traces her progress through the simulacrum's crystal eyes, now his familiar, his black cat stalking her shadow on silent paws, his eyes upon the night. Locked outside, housecarls listen intently as each report drifts down. Should the horns sound, we ride with axes shouldered to quickly render aid.

But grendels are cautious, and cunning by nature. It will not approach should it scent sorcery upon the wind. She becomes the lure, the apple, the forbidden fruit whose temptation is too powerful to resist, the betrayal waiting at the end of each day in a sudden blaze of fiery pain that only it will feel.

Like a moth drawn to the flame that devours it, instinct compels it to return. Like the wax of that votive, to provide the light she, too, must prepare to burn. Transformed from fuel to smoke a little more each day, she lights her own way in the darkness, seeking out the path to her redemption and release.

Each morning finds her slightly more sunburned and sore from the previous in the field as her searching slowly spirals toward an end.


© 2007 Edward P. Morgan III

2 comments:

  1. --------------------------------
    Notes and asides:
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    The biggest difference between radiation and chemotherapy was that I couldn’t be with Karen during treatment. Fortunately, radiation only took 15-20 minutes from the time she left me in the waiting room. The process was simple, painless and quick.

    Something about the process reminded me of a twisted version of Little Red Riding Hood, where Karen skipped through the woods with her basket as the bait for a trap the woodcutter had set for the wolf. Yeah, tactically, that’s how I think. You take the battle to your enemy any way you can, and use every weakness against him. That’s how wars are fought and won.

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  2. Picture notes: The picture for this one is of Fairy Glen in Wales, which seemed appropriate. At the time Karen took it, there were all manner of flying insects buzzing around. Between them and the almost magical, golden light, we quickly understood how this place got its name.

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