in the gloaming
Feb. 14th, 2011 02:48 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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estdeus_innobisThe thin hours before dawn, Tuesday 23 March
Excolo has been still these past weeks. Around the feast of Lupercalia there was a small ripple of unsettled dreams, dreams of desire and frustration and longing, but they passed. Some magic there, of a tainted sort, but a small kind, passing out of mind. But for all the quiet I think that something new has come to be. That Wanda has had her child I now know, infant glimpsed in dreams. The child herself has started dreaming. I have gazed into them, but not crossed the threshold. I do not yet know how much of her mind her father watches. Like most infants, her dreams are all noise and colour, no narrative - but there are things I glimpse in the dreams that no infant should know. Things of shadow and of light.
I create another crossroads, but this one is a room with staircases that will serve as paths. A rug lies in the centre of a tea room, and on the rug stands a table crowned with flowers. There are smaller tables nearby laid with napkins and silver, and I seat myself at one of them, pouring tea into a china cup. It is amber and smells of faraway. Perhaps someone will come and drink with me.
[open]
Excolo has been still these past weeks. Around the feast of Lupercalia there was a small ripple of unsettled dreams, dreams of desire and frustration and longing, but they passed. Some magic there, of a tainted sort, but a small kind, passing out of mind. But for all the quiet I think that something new has come to be. That Wanda has had her child I now know, infant glimpsed in dreams. The child herself has started dreaming. I have gazed into them, but not crossed the threshold. I do not yet know how much of her mind her father watches. Like most infants, her dreams are all noise and colour, no narrative - but there are things I glimpse in the dreams that no infant should know. Things of shadow and of light.
I create another crossroads, but this one is a room with staircases that will serve as paths. A rug lies in the centre of a tea room, and on the rug stands a table crowned with flowers. There are smaller tables nearby laid with napkins and silver, and I seat myself at one of them, pouring tea into a china cup. It is amber and smells of faraway. Perhaps someone will come and drink with me.
[open]
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no subject
Date: 2011-03-03 10:35 pm (UTC)"What you do is good, deputy," I say seriously. "None of us can ever do enough. But doing something is no small thing." I offer him my hand. "Shake my hand and wake, Mr Hollow," I say. "And try to remember what I have said when you do."
no subject
Date: 2011-03-05 12:47 am (UTC)"I will, ma'am," I say. "An' hope it'll be a good something that gets done."
An' take her hand and the table and the room're thinning like fog, 'til they're just the air in the room, and the chair's hard and wide. One'a the benches in the Abbey, an' the whole place fer the moment is still, peaceful'n'steady in the night.
Look up at the altar, an' just sit fer a minute, turnin' what happened over in my head.