Faerie Forest

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Today is Tale Weaver at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie.  Our task is to describe a Fairy Land.


The fog in the forest was sad shade of opaque gray. It seemed to try to lift, but its own density was too much. The thick fog made it difficult to breathe, as if a damp towel had been flung at one’s face. And the smell! The smell of Faerie Forest was like no other. There was no fresh, crisp, evergreen scent that one might expect. Instead, the fragrance was one of  stagnate petrichor — likely due to the lack of fresh air. No doubt when a breeze did try to sneak through, it became trapped in the limbs of the superabundance of trees.

Even when a few beams of sunlight penetrated and began to dissipate, the airless aroma lingered.

From the corner of their eyes, the children thought they could see faces on the trees: Angry faces with gnashing, jagged teeth, eyes that were vapid and ominous at the same time. But when they’d turn to look, the faces disappeared.

Every so often, a tiny creature would scamper across their path, but it moved to quickly for the children to get a good look at it. Ashton thought they were chipmunks while his sister Sylvia, decided they were either faerie-folk, elves, or leprechauns.

“You’re such a girl,” Ashton remarked, giving his sister a sideways glance.

“Right you are!”

The further into Faerie Forest they walked, the more narrow their little path became. The trees were so tall and thick that they blocked what little sunshine there was. Thick globs of moss inched its way across the trees and rocks like a plague.

“Ashton?” Sylvia began. “This can’t be right.”

“Yeah, I think Mom & Dad tried to pull a fast one again,” Ashton sighed. “No way is there a Domino’s hot spot around here.”

 

 

 

Susan Marie Shuman/ SusanWritesPrecise

 

 

Shamans Call

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Today at MindLovesMisery’s Menagerie, we have Heeding Haiku With Chèvrefeuille. The prompt is the image below by Alexander Nickolsky/Siberian Times.


Shamans call upon

Siberian Ancestors —

Bang the drums harder.

 

Shapeshifting into

reindeer brings swiftness, insights.

Shamans play with fire.

 

 

Susan Marie Shuman/Susan WritesPrecise

Alexander Nickolsky/ Siberian Times.

The Elder’s Hogan

SusanWritesPrecise/Susan Marie Shuman
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It’s Wordle-day at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie! We are to create a story using at least ten of the words below:

Rub

Psyche

Vitiate – spoil or impair the quality or efficiency of: development programmes have been vitiated by the rise in population• destroy or impair the legal validity of: the insurance is vitiated because of foolish acts on the part of the tenant.

Rose

Receive

Occurrence

Persuade

Rooftop

Nightlife

Monstrosity

Clay

Pigeon


Big Thunder and Clay Pidgeon had been sneaking around for several months. They’d each had been promised to members of their own tribes, but were secretly in love with one another.

Big Thunder’s fiancée” was named Withering Rose. She was a nice enough girl, maybe a little on the plain side, but she was okay. Let’s just say her name suited her.

Clay Pidgeon’s prospective spouse was a monstrosity of a man who went by the name of Screaming Scorpion.  His name suited him too, unfortunately. Screaming Scorpion had no friends probably because he had no social skills. The big slob managed to rub just about everyone the wrong way. Clay Pidgeon’s father had lost a poker game to Screaming Scorpion’s dad, and Clay Pidgeon was the prize.

Both weddings would take place within the next couple of weeks, and the two lovers were panicked.

“Oh, Big Thunder! What are we going to do?” Clay Pidgeon whined. “I’d rather eat raw corn off the cob than marry that freak!”

“I know, I know Clay Pidgeon.” Big Thunder sighed. “You think I want to be with Withering Rose for the rest of my life?”

“There’s only one thing to do then,” Clay Pidgeon concluded. “Let’s blow this joint.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!” she replied. “There’s nothing here; no nightlife, unless you want to count listening to crickets and watching the stars. We’ve become to old to slide down the Elder’s rooftop.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Big Thunder agreed. “Heck, there’s not even a Wal-Mart around here! But where would we go?”

“Anywhere we want.” Clay Pidgeon shrugged.  “Where would you like to go?”

Big Thunder was silent for a few minutes as he thought of possibilities. “I know!” His eyes lit up as he grinned. “Chicago! How about Chicago?

“Hey, that’s my kind o’ town!” Clay Pidgeon joked.

“How we gonna get there?”

“You forgot  I received a pick-up truck for my 18th birthday?

“Hey, that’s right!”

Big Thunder smiled that special smile that always melted Clay Pidgeon’s heart. She stepped closer, put her arms around him and gave him a the hottest kiss ever. It made them both dizzy.

“Damn, girl! You sure can be persuasive.”

“I was just getting warmed up…” She whispered, gazing at him through half-closed eyelids.

That night, the two decided to make their escape.

Clay Pidgeon told her parents she was going to run up to the 7-11 for a bag of Gummie Bears. The 7-11 was a good 30 miles away, so they wouldn’t expect her back too soon.

Clay Pidgeon could barely contain her excitement as she set off to pick up Big Thunder.  Their new life awaited!

She  did a double take as she witnessed an obnoxious occurrence while driving past the Elder’s Hogan: Withering Rose and Screaming Scorpion perched on the rooftop, holding hands and laughing, getting ready to slide.

What the…? A surprising pang of jealousy pierced Clay Pidgeon’s heart. How dare he?

She decided to drive around the block, just one more time.

 

SusanWritesPrecise/Susan Marie Shuman

Navajo Hogan, Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park, Navajo Nation Reservation, Utah/Arizona Border. (Photo by: Ron Reznick/VW Pics/UIG via Getty Images)