"She is mixing time up in her thinking," Pine who Stood did not make a habit of eavesdropping but on this occasion Calypso's recollection caught his attention.
"Does it matter so much the precision of when her daughter was born? She means to attach meaning to her feeling. That can't be dangerous, can it." Hemlock considered the opinion from her angle. A different angle.
Though the Pines lose much of their hair during the fall, their hearing is very finely-tuned. Humans who live among them have the benefit of their capacity, and it was a good thing. Communication between Trees was a full-body experience. There was the wind that sent messages between them ... and over long distances. But, it was the network of knowing underground that kept things moving.
Meddling in human business was a risky endeavor, but necessary. Pine who Stood was the elder of this forest community and he had sensed the change of perspective that happens to all living beings. The shift that resets clocks naturally. Calypso was replacing one thing or two things for space, and that was what happened. What's important? Details or essence?
Pine and Hemlock stood, the wind blew through with gusto, clouds raced somewhere.
St. Theresa's was over the top with buzzing chatter and tables decked out with cakes, cookies and crafts. That was what awaited folks after the costumed little folks wound their way through a parking lot of SUVs with their trunks agape. The rain was making things interesting, but, this was rain country and the uninitiated would be after a season with Salish Rain. Umbrellas and canopies dangled with plastic pumpkins the size of tangerines; tangerines filled baskets next to Halloween sized Three Musketeers Bars and Baby Ruths. Adults and teens reveled in the atmosphere of costumes.
Daniel had painted an old wooden bucket orange with a push cart handle for his daughter's Trick or Treat bag. A set of wheels from an old toy was assembled below. Lined with a paper bag and its own tiny black umbrella Larkin proudly wheeled her wooden bucket on wheels for her treats. It didn't take long for the bucket to fill. It was a small bucket, but plenty enough for the girl with a sweet tooth.
"Honey, I'm heading over to see how the chalkboards are selling. Peg's hawking the wares for us." Daniel pointed to Peg O'Neil who was Glenda the Good with a bit of an attitude. Her wings were a razzle of color and rabbit ears flopped over her turquoise bright eyes. She was an old friend. Her mother's oldest friend as a matter of fact.
Most of the kids were gathering around tubs of apples bobbing in water. It looked like fun. Larkin saw her friends, and asked if she could join them instead.
"Sure, I'll find you in the crowd." There were lots of adults supervising the organized mayhem. "The table's at the end of row that way." Daniel pointed to the table close to the windowed door leading to the side of the church.
Larkin really liked Mrs. O'Neil, and she knew her dad liked her too. The two O'Neil kids were already wet from apple bobbing, a dry towel wrapped Caitlin O'Neil's freckled face. When the older of the two siblings saw Larkin pushing her orange bucket on wheels, he beamed with a toothless grin. Pat O'Neil, aged 7 and a half had a sweet tooth for Larkin. He teased in a deep dramatic flare, "Where do you live little girl?" Larkin was ready for him. "Who wants to know?"
" I'm the Big Bad Wolf and I'm gonna huff and puff and blow your house down, and steal your candy!"
From under the dry towel Caitlin O'Neil giggled, "He's not the Big Bad Wooff. That's just Peter." Cailtin was three and a half going on twenty. Patrick Peter O'Neil would always be Peter to her. Standing on a stepstool to get into the barrel of apples, someone with safety on the brain had thought to put water wings on the little girls' arms in case she toppled in after the bright Honey Crisps.
Time sped. Tonight was the last of those artificially long Daylight Savings times. "I hate that stuff," Daniel muttered under his breath as he looked at the time on his cellphone. There was a man who was most at ease when he could fix things to the way he reckoned true.
"Can't fix the time Dan," Peg O'Neil was one of those Pine-bred women with keen hearing and no nonsense reply mechanism built-in.
"You weren't meant to hear that," Daniel wasn't always ready for the woman's truths. Changing the subject he was tickled to see all of his chalkboards were gone. A dozen brought. A dozen sold.
"Would you and the kids like to come over to the house after we clean up here? Calypso's made soup and pie. And we're making Pine Needle Dancers?"
Without hesitation, at the thought of good food and his company Peg O'Neil flipped one of her rabbit ears out of her eyes and said, "We'd love it!"
"Great, I'll give Calypso a call and let her know to expect three more." One more to go before the night is over.
Keep reading.
"Does it matter so much the precision of when her daughter was born? She means to attach meaning to her feeling. That can't be dangerous, can it." Hemlock considered the opinion from her angle. A different angle.
Though the Pines lose much of their hair during the fall, their hearing is very finely-tuned. Humans who live among them have the benefit of their capacity, and it was a good thing. Communication between Trees was a full-body experience. There was the wind that sent messages between them ... and over long distances. But, it was the network of knowing underground that kept things moving.
Meddling in human business was a risky endeavor, but necessary. Pine who Stood was the elder of this forest community and he had sensed the change of perspective that happens to all living beings. The shift that resets clocks naturally. Calypso was replacing one thing or two things for space, and that was what happened. What's important? Details or essence?
Pine and Hemlock stood, the wind blew through with gusto, clouds raced somewhere.
St. Theresa's was over the top with buzzing chatter and tables decked out with cakes, cookies and crafts. That was what awaited folks after the costumed little folks wound their way through a parking lot of SUVs with their trunks agape. The rain was making things interesting, but, this was rain country and the uninitiated would be after a season with Salish Rain. Umbrellas and canopies dangled with plastic pumpkins the size of tangerines; tangerines filled baskets next to Halloween sized Three Musketeers Bars and Baby Ruths. Adults and teens reveled in the atmosphere of costumes.
Daniel had painted an old wooden bucket orange with a push cart handle for his daughter's Trick or Treat bag. A set of wheels from an old toy was assembled below. Lined with a paper bag and its own tiny black umbrella Larkin proudly wheeled her wooden bucket on wheels for her treats. It didn't take long for the bucket to fill. It was a small bucket, but plenty enough for the girl with a sweet tooth.
"Honey, I'm heading over to see how the chalkboards are selling. Peg's hawking the wares for us." Daniel pointed to Peg O'Neil who was Glenda the Good with a bit of an attitude. Her wings were a razzle of color and rabbit ears flopped over her turquoise bright eyes. She was an old friend. Her mother's oldest friend as a matter of fact.
Most of the kids were gathering around tubs of apples bobbing in water. It looked like fun. Larkin saw her friends, and asked if she could join them instead.
"Sure, I'll find you in the crowd." There were lots of adults supervising the organized mayhem. "The table's at the end of row that way." Daniel pointed to the table close to the windowed door leading to the side of the church.
Larkin really liked Mrs. O'Neil, and she knew her dad liked her too. The two O'Neil kids were already wet from apple bobbing, a dry towel wrapped Caitlin O'Neil's freckled face. When the older of the two siblings saw Larkin pushing her orange bucket on wheels, he beamed with a toothless grin. Pat O'Neil, aged 7 and a half had a sweet tooth for Larkin. He teased in a deep dramatic flare, "Where do you live little girl?" Larkin was ready for him. "Who wants to know?"
" I'm the Big Bad Wolf and I'm gonna huff and puff and blow your house down, and steal your candy!"
From under the dry towel Caitlin O'Neil giggled, "He's not the Big Bad Wooff. That's just Peter." Cailtin was three and a half going on twenty. Patrick Peter O'Neil would always be Peter to her. Standing on a stepstool to get into the barrel of apples, someone with safety on the brain had thought to put water wings on the little girls' arms in case she toppled in after the bright Honey Crisps.
Time sped. Tonight was the last of those artificially long Daylight Savings times. "I hate that stuff," Daniel muttered under his breath as he looked at the time on his cellphone. There was a man who was most at ease when he could fix things to the way he reckoned true.
"Can't fix the time Dan," Peg O'Neil was one of those Pine-bred women with keen hearing and no nonsense reply mechanism built-in.
"You weren't meant to hear that," Daniel wasn't always ready for the woman's truths. Changing the subject he was tickled to see all of his chalkboards were gone. A dozen brought. A dozen sold.
"Would you and the kids like to come over to the house after we clean up here? Calypso's made soup and pie. And we're making Pine Needle Dancers?"
Without hesitation, at the thought of good food and his company Peg O'Neil flipped one of her rabbit ears out of her eyes and said, "We'd love it!"
"Great, I'll give Calypso a call and let her know to expect three more." One more to go before the night is over.
Keep reading.
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