Yesterday I encountered a funny little man in these twisted woods. Dressed in bark, vines in his hair. Two feet high, one foot wide, three eyes and a nose like a solid brass trumpet. “Come back on the morrow and I will grant you one wish,” said he.
One wish, one wish, one wish. Gold? Silk? Baskets of fruit? A barrel of meat? My husband? The child?
Reenter the woods. My mind in a whirl. Nothing moves. No birds. No wind. No little man.
I remain lost. Hallucinating again.
Up From the Ashes 