What She Wished For Me
She perceived me as poor, and wanted to cause me abundance.
‘Find me some sticks for wands,’ she said. ‘I’ll pay well.’
After months of crafting, decorating, imbuing with power, she’d sell them at a much higher price. But she was sick now, and couldn’t scavenge for herself.
from her window
from her window
forests on the hills –
too far to walk
too far to walk
Sticks on the ground had always spoken to me — not all, but those that wanted to come home with me. Some that called me became my wands, but I never did anything to them. No extra magic, no decoration. I thought them sufficient in themselves.
Searching on her behalf wasn’t so easy. But some seemed possible; I collected a bundle. She was disappointed.
‘This wood’s dead: dry and brittle. This one has yucky energy. This might do, if I break that bit off....
‘I want you to talk to the sticks you find, listen to them, feel their energy, sense their purpose. The ones I need are drawn to me.’
I didn’t say that was so for me too, that I really knew how to find the special sticks. Nor that I spoke to them, asking if they wanted to be with me, and listened for their answers. I thought it would seem that I was making pathetic excuses.
Next search, I found two that called me. When I held them, they fit my hand, they sang to my blood. I claimed them; never told her.
taking fallen sticks
from someone else's land –
is that stealing?
taking fallen sticks
from someone else's land –
is that stealing?
I did talk to others, explored their energy; finally brought her more. They didn’t excite her, but she felt they’d serve.
She confessed she was training me to be her PA so I could go off the Age Pension. ‘You’re so not elderly,’ she said. ‘We’ll get you fit. You’re going to live long; you’ll need serious money. When I’m well again, I'll employ you full time.’
Now I had to speak up, tell truth.
‘Sorry, I won’t do that. I’d never give that job the energy it needs. I’ll always choose to give first priority to poetry. Always.’
She got it; didn’t argue – though her eyes dulled. I told myself she’d soon find someone to replace me.
Before that could happen, unexpectedly, she died.
I inherited her wands.
empty house –
her elder tree by the door
flowering
I love this witchy haibun--imaginative and funny and tender!😍(Sticks speak to me, too.)
ReplyDeleteAh, how nice to know that!
DeleteThis drew a deep sigh from me. May her soul rest in peace. The image of the elder tree flowering by the door is especially poignant. I have a feeling she is smiling at us from above.
ReplyDeleteOh, I expect so! (Smile.)
DeleteRosemary. I smiled as I read this, I really liked it. Several things came to mind, most promising were the "well witchers." Do you have them in the Aus? They have s special forked stick, like kids use to make sling shots, when held by the forked end with two hands, one on each brainch, the single end would pull down towards underground water. They were paid for their services.
ReplyDeleteYou might see if you have these gifts with your forked sticks. Likely there is how-to literature that google could find.
Thanks, Jim, glad you liked it. Yes, I know about those people, though this is the first time I ever heard of that lovely term, 'well witchers'.We just call them dowsers. In fact I have a pair of copper dowsing rods which I got in 1998 from a Native American man at a fair somewhere in Florida. They work well. I have also used forked sticks, but my favourite dowsing tool is a pendulum. I don't have a lot of need to find water, where I live, but there are many other ways to dowse.
DeleteOh, I love this. Listening to sticks...I've never done it, but I know they have a voice. Passion above chasing gold...love that too. Every stick was meant to come home with you.
ReplyDelete