Laurie Fraser's Blog, page 3

freckled face

today my amaryllis bloomed orange

dotted with red.

today is the first day of a war.

on tv, a soldier with green and beige spots said,

“they honestly think it’s an honour to die for their country

and we’re going to give them the opportunity.”

it’s an honour for him too, I hear.

when I sleep I dream of children

splattered with blood,

the amaryllis

big as a freckled face

jan. 16, 1991

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Walking out of Lockdown

Walking out healthy, that is. I don’t know if lockdown left anyone unscathed.

Energy healing examples:

Marnie, aged 39, survived lockdown with 2 adolescent boys and her husband working from home.

calming procedure, removed generalized anxiety. Look and Fix procedure. I am clairvoyant. I saw things in Marnie’s energy asked her energy whether they should be removed. Generally, the image represents an experience or emotion.I removed red (anger) and water over her entire body (overwhelming sadness).I removed chains from around her feet and wrists, a collar from her neck (lack of control and freedom) and some pots and pans. (She says the kitchen work was “unending”.)There was a dog in her aura and her energy wanted him to stay. I described him- small, black, barky. She said it was Bailey who had died several years earlier. (Sometimes I see things that the energy does not want removed: flowers of all kinds, musical instruments, babies, totems… The baby and dog are not really there- it’s love, a memory only.) Holographic healing . Marnie’s energy directed me to her root chakra. I pulled out a holograph of a dining room table, many people around the table, very crowded and chaotic. Not enough chairs for everyone. My job when seeing a holograph is to fix it. In turn, the chakra becomes less burdened, the body healthier. In this case, Marnie’s energy directed me to add chairs, make the room & table bigger, give everyone some space. Then I blew the darkness / black away with my breath and replaced it with red, the proper colour for that chakra.Holographic healing on kidneys. I saw a red wagon with only 3 wheels. The client was “fearful about moving forward”. Kidneys hold fears. I put a fourth wheel on the wagon, greased wheels. Past life healing . Marnie’s energy took me to a vision of her life 5 lifetimes ago. She was male, Asian, and stuck behind a locked door. It was a jail of some sort. I unlocked the door & let him out, but, as well, I cleared the emotions from that lifetime. It was resonating with covid restrictions, making it more difficult for Marnie to cope.Sugar Correction. This a Biocomputer Operating System procedure to assist the body with sugar detox. (Ya, I think a lot of us fell into poor eating habits during lockdown.) Calming procedure again, this time specific to “job search”.

Results:

Marnie has updated her resume. She reports fewer butterflies in her stomach and more patience with teens. (She has healthier kidneys too, but that is preventive stuff- removing emotions from organs results in less-stressed organs. eg. grief from lungs, anger from liver, loss and sadness from hearts, nurturing issues from breasts.)

I do only what the client’s energy directs me to do. I communicate with their energy with muscle-testing and clairvoyance.

Flora, age 71, vaccine fears, anxiety, dizziness, breast cancer survivor.

Her father, who crossed over several years ago, attended the session. He had a message of support and love for her. Her reply, through tears: “Thank you Papa. It means so much to me!”

anti-anxiety procedure (general calming)trapped freeze trauma from giving birth years ago removed. (fear of hospitals)trapped freeze trauma from illness at ages 45 – 47 removed. (mistrust of medical professionals and procedures, cancer trauma)holographic healing on root chakra. (I repaired a broken house that represented her body.)Past life healing (death due to infection, age 37, female, born 1642, East coast of South America.Look and Fix (medical paraphernalia, a car accident, various stuck emotions- all removed from her aura.)

Results:

Flora reports: “I’m calmer than I’ve been in over a year”.

_________

Laurie Fraser is B.O.S. certified, 14 years experience, $90. subsidies available

thewordnotspoken@gmail.com

first published in Tone Canada Magazine, July 2021

 

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Disappeared Deer- a short story by Laurie Fraser

Disappeared Deer 

When Wolf howls at Moon, it is said that all Disappeared Deer hear their names. He howls each name, and they know he is looking for them; they know they are not forgotten. Their mothers and fathers hear their own anguish when Wolf howls. Wind joins in then, wailing and moaning around trees and dens, calling out their names with Wolf: “Ada, Ruth, Cheyenne, Rhonda, Azraya, Edna, Marilyn, Cheryl, Delaine, Beatrice, Gladys…”

When Councillor Wolf howls the names of Disappeared Deer, most animals in Bangan Forest stop to listen. It is respect for missing deer, but it is respect for Wolf as well. Strong, black… and always alone, Councillor Wolf is their protector.

The Deer Clan is experiencing a heartbreaking crisis: deer, usually females, are disappearing. It’s been going on for years.  

The Council of Seven have met, of course, many times about Disappeared Deer. Experts have been brought in, studies studied. Theories abound, most of them involving foul play, humans and poachers. Councillor Eagle can’t let go of the UFO angle and he is harshly judged for his alien theory, but to be fair, Eagle does fly awfully high, sometimes quite close to Sun, and occasionally he reports seeing things that the residents of Bangan Forest can hardly believe.

At Council, evidence has come to light that supports the tricking theory. Daanis Deer was only an adolescent when she told her friends that a human had offered her a job dancing in Town. Her father had forced her to dance from a young age, so it was natural for her to think of herself as a dancer. Daanis was especially pretty with little white freckles on her nose. Males admired her gorgeous legs and long supple neck.

“She said his name was Mr. Human,” Daanis’s friend reported to Council. “He told her that he owned some dance clubs and vegetarian restaurants. Daanis said he was really nice to her, like a boyfriend. He gave her a whole box of sugar.”

Another missing deer named Nindaanis had told her family that she was going to visit some friends in Next Town, but she had never arrived. No one knew what happened to Nindaanis.

“It’s a long journey between towns,” Wise Beaver pointed out. “Anything can happen out there. Land between towns is not protected like Bangan; travel isn’t safe for deer.”

“They’ve probably been shot by human hunters,” said Councillor Turtle. He was concerned with truth and it was he who would be the one to speak the most difficult words. “They may be in freezers and on dinner plates all over the country.”

“Daanis talked about dancing opportunities in far off places like Greenland and Japan and Las Vegas. She was quite excited about that,” said her friend.

“Japan has plenty of their own deer,” said Eagle, who had been there.

“Mr. Human said Daanis was especially beautiful. They don’t have deer that look like her in Japan.”

“You see?” said Wolf. “It’s a type of trap. If one deer didn’t come home, we could imagine she is settled in a new home. However, it’s not one deer- it’s dozens now. How could so many disappear without a word, without a message sent home to their families? Obviously, they are not working at jobs or travelling to exciting destinations.”

The Forest Boys were asked to come before The Council of Seven and advise. The Forest Boys are a loosely organized group of minor criminals operating in Bangan Forest. They’re mostly involved in sugar smuggling. Membership includes elk, raccoons, coyotes, weasels and badgers.

It was Fat Badger who spoke. “We are aware of humans contacting deer and offering jobs or gifts of sugar. That happens in Outer Meadow usually, or in the ditch on this side of Danger Road. Sometimes deer want the sugar so much that they go off with the humans. We don’t know where they go. We try to convince them to stay because we want them eating our sugar, not town sugar… but they tell us it’s free in Town.”

“How can sugar be free?” asked Wolf.

“I know, that’s what we say, but they’ve made new friends. They’ve been promised.”

Ever since hearing Fat Badger’s testimony, Wolf pretty much lives in that ditch. All day he watches for new friends with promises and job offers that are too good to be true. He watches for fake new boyfriends who are too generous to be true. He watches for young deer who are uncertain of their path, who are especially beautiful with white freckles on their noses. He watches for hunters with guns and camouflage hats and refrigerated trucks.

He is one frustrated wolf. He spends his days watching from ditches and meadows’ edges, but Wolf has not found even one human handing out sugar and telling stories of fame and wealth. He has not returned even one female deer or fawn to Bangan Forest.

It’s still a mystery, the facts are not known, dozens of females are lost out there- maybe as close as the nearest Town, maybe as far as a stage in Japan. They might be travelling the world. They might be trying to get home. There’s a chance, and no one except Turtle is willing to acknowledge this possibility, but there’s a chance that they’re dead.

All of us here in Bangan Forest miss these females very much. They were supposed to grow up here, helping us, as deer do, with pruning and so on. They were our future Council members and who knows- teachers, ballet dancers, firefighters.

There’s a chance too that they are singing and dancing in your town.

Could you keep an eye out for these dappled deer with gorgeous legs? Their mothers want to see them. Their fathers feel helpless. Wolf howls their names every night. You can know them if you listen: “Loraine, Nashie, Shelley, Minnie, Verna, Spring, Laura, Savanna, Jordina, Viola, Margaret, Regis, Mitzi, Rebecca, Paula, Maxine, Theresa, Vivian, Mary, Tashina, Sarah, Robyn, Patrina, Melissa, Lynn… “

After he howls the names, Wolf runs around Mother Earth, circles her every single night looking for Disappeared Deer in towns and forests and bus stations. Moon assists, but even so, Wolf could use a hand at this point. I mean, if you see some pretty female deer on the street, please, just take a moment and ask: “What’s your name? Where are you from? Do you want to go home?”

Deer at Mud Lake eating Sumac

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Wild and Blue- a short story by Laurie Fraser

Wild and Blue

a story from Bangan Forest

Blue Sky was skinny and sharp and blue. That about covers it. He was no more than 2 inches tall, thin as a pin, sharp nose, pointy hat, blue skin. His skin was losing colour. I mean, he was born bright blue, but a decade later, he was more the colour of faded jeans. He’ll die young – all fairies do – and he’ll be translucent by then.

Blue awakened early in anticipation of Corn Moon. She would be full tonight. Blue climbed out of his bluebell blossom bed and slid down her stalk. Grass was taller than Blue. He pushed blades and stalks aside and made his way to Echinacea who had some drops of Morning Dew on her petals. He washed his hands and face in Dewdrop. Since it was a special day, he pulled off his pointy blue boots and washed his pointy blue feet too. It tinged Dewdrop blue, but Dewdrops are used to these fairy effects. I mean, sometimes, if you take the time to notice, dewdrops resting on Sweetgrass and flower petals in the early morning are many different colours: pink, green, gold, violet… depending on who’s been washing in them.

Deep Summer had a way of making everyone believe that she would never leave. She settled into Bangan Forest like a fat human in a double-wide chair: heavy heat spread into every nook and cranny. It seemed it would be too much of an effort for her to ever pull herself out. Temperature was already torrid as Blue picked his clothes for Corn Moon’s celebration. He picked 3 clover leaves and wrapped them around his body. His belt was Blade of grass who wound around his waist 3 times, that’s how skinny Blue was. He topped his outfit off with his blue felt hat. He’d worn that hat every day since he found it hanging on Tiny Twig, forgotten by a long-ago fairy. It was a bit sticky but that’s because he used it to filter maple syrup in Spring.

Blue gathered food for breakfast: fibre from Dandelion’s bitter leaf sweetened with honey drips from Bee’s hive and milk from Milkweed. After he ate, he sat on Earth and wrapped gifts to share at the celebration. He put several honey drips in the middle of Buttercup’s blossom and then folded her petals over one by one to protect the tacky treasure. He was building a pile of these sticky yellow gifts, absorbed in his task, when:

“BOO BLUE!”

He startled even though he knew who it was immediately. “Wild! Don’t scare me like that!”

She giggled. “What are you doing?”

Blue showed her the sharing gifts. Wild had brought a little package of Primrose Pollen for the party, but she sat down beside Blue and helped him wrap Honey Drips. Soon they were both covered in honey up to their elbows. By then Morning Dew had evaporated, so they gathered the sharing gifts up in a sack and headed to Cricket Creek to wash up. The sack was heavy, but no dragonflies were around to help, so Blue and Wild held the sack between them as they doggedly flitted up and down, at the mercy of Breeze, all the way to Cricket Creek.

Wild checked her reflection in Water. She had fresh Daisy Blossom on her head, the white petals reflecting Sun and keeping her cool. Her enormous eyes were violet- smokey violet. Wild had picked a white party dress- 2 fresh rose petals. As always, lavender filled her shoes and pockets; lavender flowers tangled her long hair. They were even in her ears. Sometimes she woke up with lavender petals in her mouth! All of that was because she slept in Lavender Bush. Her full name was Wild Lavender, and Blue Sky adored her. She looked good and she smelled good, but most important of all, she was his best friend.

Once they were all cleaned up, they flitted over to Sunny Rock. Sunny Rock was wide, low and flat. Sun loved him and they were always hanging out together, making themselves quite popular with snakes and dragonflies and fairies. This morning, Sunny Rock was covered in fairies who wanted a ride to Little Clearing. Red Dragonfly Service was working non-stop, but there must have been 20 fairies waiting. Blue took Wild’s tiny hand in his and they flew down Elk’s Path a short way to get away from the crowd. A few minutes later, he flagged down LuLu Butterfly, and they were on their way.

Now, fairies will celebrate anything. Their lives are short and jam-packed with joy. Every single moment is worth celebrating in a fairy’s life. They celebrate new moons and full moons. They celebrate every new plant, every death; they celebrate the first fruit and the last fruit.

If you see a wild strawberry plant and there is a fairy ring around it, a ring where the grass is lighter and thinner, you can be sure that fairies danced there. You can be sure that this plant birthed the first strawberry of Summer. Fairies never eat that first white berry, even once it turns red. Well, no one in Bangan Forest does that, for all have agreed to abide by the Honourable Harvest rules, one of which is: Do not take the first one nor the last one.

This day Corn Moon would be full and Little Clearing was full of fairies: fairies in summer dresses, fairies in supple leaves, fairies in flower blossoms, fairies with no clothes at all, fairies with acorn lid hats, top hats, garden hats…

Wild and Blue took their sharing gifts over to Buttercup Clump. Many sharing gifts had already arrived: pine needle baskets and pouches too, dried salty plants from Old Swamp, soapberries from the other side of Bangan Mountain, Dandelion straws filled with honey and milk, Lavender from Outer Meadow, a wide selection of feathers, some White Birch syrup, a few flint flakes.

“How blessed we are in Bangan Forest!” said Wild.

“Plenty,” smiled Blue. He wanted to kiss her. He kicked the toe of his pointy blue boot into Earth. “Plenty blessed.”

“With food and friends,” Wild said. She wanted to kiss him, but she just took his hand.

The friends flew over Goldenrod and Asters. Little Clearing was busy, but it would be downright crowded with fairies by Nightfall. Some friends lived here, like Morel Mushrooms and Pond, Rockin’ Rocks and Lilypad Knot. Others travelled a long way for the festivity. Wood fairies, River Fairies and Mountain Fairies were all here, gathering to gather together.

Fairies celebrate the moment because they live in the moment. Although there was plenty of chatting, there was little actual news. Fairies don’t care about the past and they have no faith in the future, so for them, it’s just now. This Day’s news was that Corn Moon was full. No gossip. No fake news. No fearful imaginings. The only news a fairy needs is what to celebrate today.

Hummingbird had contributed to the buffet and she was a remarkable cook. Always humming, Daisy stuck behind her ear, Hummingbird loved to prepare festive foods. For Corn Moon, she had prepared corn muffins, corn panna cotta, corn chips, popped corn kernels, charred kernels, and creamed corn. No matter how much fairies ate, Hummingbird would dart in with more delicacies: candied crab apples on branches, pine nut brittle, candy floss clouds. To cut through the sweet treats, she served the tart tastes of Deep Summer: fresh blackberries and blueberries and ground cherries.

Blue filled 2 glasses with Nectar and brought one over to Wild who rested on Queen Anne’s Lace. He thought she was exquisite with her violet eyes and white rose petal dress, her long lavender braids and Queen’s throne. She reached out one delicate arm to take the drink.

“To this moment,” toasted Blue. It was Fairy’s Toast; it was always the same.

“To this moment,” grinned Wild. She thought he was spectacular with his blue skin and Clover clothes, his pointy nose and fancy boots.

Their glasses clinked as if they had kissed.

You would think Wild and Blue would kiss then. I mean, fairies don’t waste time. They cherish every moment. Like flutterbys and butterflies, fairies don’t live long. It’s their wings, their delicate wings. They are dripping fairy dust, dropping fairy dust everywhere they go. Enchanted dust that grants wishes, heals hearts and wields magic. So little precious dust, so little precious time. Because of this, fairies savour moments.

For sure, you’d think Blue would kiss Wild or maybe, Wild would kiss Blue… in that moment, that toasted moment… but they did not. All afternoon, Wild and Blue chose to sit side by side on Queen Anne’s Lace, holding hands and waiting for Corn Moon to show up. Who’s to say they didn’t savour every moment?

Deep Summer remained hot when Dusk arrived. Corn Moon showed up early; he was ecstatic to be full. He poured love down upon Mother Earth and all her life: plants, rocks, animals, humans, fairies. Moon loves all without judgement. If you exist, Moon loves you; it’s that simple.

Forest fairies and River fairies and Mountain fairies all danced in Moon’s light. Fairies love circles and Little Clearing was full of fairy circles: big circles, circles within circles, overlapping circles. Wild and Blue held hands as they danced, their wings beating faster than Hummingbird’s. Spirits were high. Fairies were drumming; fairies were strumming. Grasses swayed, flowers bobbed. Night Breeze was filled with petals and giggles and merriment.

Most feet were bare and not touching Earth at all. Fairies spun in pirouettes. Precious dust flew off fairies, sparkles sparkled. Fireflies joined the light show.

Each fairy was glowing their own colour, and as they circled together, they became halos of light. Pink halos, blue halos, golden rings rolling up into Starry Sky. Dancing fairies swirled like Saturn’s Ring. They whirled like Galaxy. And they were no less.

Wild and Blue were born of this place, Forest and Sky. Mother Earth’s love and Corn Moon’s love were one and the same to them. The love they had for each other was no less.

Corn Moon saw Wild and Blue dancing in her light. She saw sweet shyness in their hearts, and she pulled them close to her. Wild and Blue rose through Starry Sky on Moon’s beam. And so it happened that Corn Moon kissed Blue, and then she kissed Wild, right on the lips.

Still holding hands, they slid down Moon’s beam, back to Mother Earth, back to Queen Anne’s Lace.

Oh yes, you’re right. It happened there and it happened then, Blue Sky kissed Wild Lavender, or maybe Wild Lavender kissed Blue Sky in Corn Moon’s light. It was a tiny little kiss, and it changed the world.

How can one tiny fairy kiss change the whole world? Every kiss does that. Every kiss changes the world.

 

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Disappeared Deer, a story from Bangan Forest, by Laurie Fraser

Disappeared Deer 

When Wolf howls at Moon, it is said that all Disappeared Deer hear their names. He howls each name, and they know he is looking for them; they know they are not forgotten. Their mothers and fathers hear the howling as anguish coming out of their own hearts. Wind joins in sometimes, wailing and moaning around trees and dens, calling out their names with Wolf: “Ada, Ruth, Cheyenne, Rhonda, Azraya, Edna, Marilyn, Cheryl, Delaine, Beatrice, Gladys…”

When Councillor Wolf howled the names of Disappeared Deer each night, most animals in Bangan Forest stopped to listen. It was respect for missing female deer, but it was respect for Wolf too. He was their protector. Wolf was lone by choice- he chose his own battles.

Wolf usually patrolled Forest’s edge between the border crossings. The border crossings were manned by bears, called Border Bears, who mostly apprehended contraband: designer watches, human-made food, especially sugar- which caused addiction. Animals tried to smuggle sugar in many ways: in drinks and juices, crackers and macaroons, breakfast cereal and peanut butter. Chocolate was highly valued- a delicacy for only the most powerful animals, or animals with the right connections.

Although Wolf watched for smugglers carrying packs filled with contraband, he was more involved in preventing poaching. Poachers rarely went through regular crossings. They travelled directly in and about and out of Forest without using paths. They could be any species, but poachers were usually human.

Just a week previous, Wolf had spied a young human carrying Runt Rabbit in a cage out of Heavy Woods into North Meadow. He could see Runt’s little mouth in a round O, but he couldn’t hear Runt’s faint screams. It had been an easy enough case- the human was a mere youth and easily frightened. He ran when Wolf bolted toward him. Once the cage was dropped on Grass, it was a simple matter of Wolf using his teeth to twist the metal bars of Runt’s jail door and set him free.

“I won’t forget,” said Runt, twitching wildly in fresh green grass, his nose filled with scents: Buttercup and Red Clover.

“Your silly Bunny wouldn’t last long without you.”

Runt hung his head. Bunny embarrassed him. “That’s true.” He hopped close to Wolf and hugged his ankle. “Oh Wolf, thank you. You saved me, and you saved Bunny too, and truly,“ he twitched, “you saved all our little babies. We’ve had another litter, 9 of them in Hollow Log right now.”

Wolf asked about Runt’s capture and he was led back to a knotted net set very cleverly under Low Bushes near Red Clover where rabbits love to munch. Wolf disabled the trap with his strong teeth and claws. Then he bid Runt, “Bamapii” and he loped off into Tall Birch, heading for Outer Meadow where mother deer waited.

“Bama,” answered Runt, waving. He knew Wolf was busy.

Small creatures like rabbits, turtles and snakes were caught by humans, usually young humans, and sold to pet stores in town. They even collected crickets, mice and worms to feed human pets! Bears and other large animals were sometimes “rescued” when they were children, and they ended up in Townzoo- a very uncomfortable and restrained existence indeed. It was rare though because Bangan Forest’s animals had ways to look after orphans, and they quickly became hard for poachers to find.

Yes, all of these crimes occupied Wolf, but they didn’t worry him the way deer worried him. The Deer Clan was experiencing a heartbreaking crisis: deer, often fawns, were disappearing. It had been going on for years.

Little fawns would bleep, “Meh! Meh!” and their mothers would hear and come running. But too late, they couldn’t find their baby girls. That was the odd thing about the kidnappings, (technically deer-nappings)- only females were taken.

Of course, girls are very pretty at that age: little freckles on their noses, gorgeously-awkward legs, saucy white tails. Their backs were dappled, perfect for camouflage in meadows on days with Sun.

Deer are often frightened of wolves. They have a bit of history there- well, to be honest, wolves eat deer quite often- so it was a real effort on Councilor Wolf’s part to earn the trust of mother deer when it came to investigating disappearing fawns. All told, 36 had disappeared in 3 years, just from the Bangan area. Apparently, it was happening in other forests as well.

Deer suspected their usual predators: wolves, humans, bears and cougars. They’d become more vigilant than usual. Instead of one scout watching out while Deer Clan ate, they had four scouts always on duty. Even though their mothers grazed nearby, even though they were well-hidden and sleeping soundlessly in Long Grasses, even though they had no scent yet, newborn babes simply disappeared.

Desperation convinced mothers in Outer Meadow to involve Councillor Wolf this year. Only Councillor Wolf, mind you, no other wolves. And so it happened that Wolf was allowed to come close in May when babes were born in that one particular meadow.

He waited on the edge of the feeding clan, his beige and black coat blending in with Forest and Shadow and Low Bushes. He didn’t move a whisker- he was the exact opposite of a twitchy rabbit. He knew humans couldn’t smell him, but he stayed downwind anyway.

It was only 4 days before Dozy Doe appeared. Wolf barely glanced at her- a female deer wandering through Dandelion, Red Clover and young Fireweed, grazing here and there, while 4 scouts watched over the whole group of grazers. Dozy didn’t appear threatening to anyone. If Scout raised her white tail flag and stood still, others would do the same thing. If they decided the danger was real, they would hightail it into Forest, leaping into Shadow nearby, watching over fawns lying helpless in Outer Meadow’s hiding places.

But Dozy Doe didn’t cause any flags- red or white. She meandered through Outer Meadow feasting on young Fireweed. She picked herself one pretty beige fawn with white spots, named Fawnish by her mother. By the time Fawnish realized she was being carried away and started to cry, “Meh, meh,” Dozy was already headed deep into Forest, and Deer Clan had missed the main event.

For the first time, however, someone did witness the fawn-napping, and for the first time, the victim did not disappear. Wolf’s sharp golden eyes had seen Dozy roll Fawnish into a small sack and saunter quickly out of Outer Meadow without any mothers noticing. Fawnish did say: “Meh! Meh!” but she didn’t say it until she realized she was in a burlap bag, and then it was too late.

Too late for her mother to hear, but not too late for Wolf to hear, for he was only a few steps behind. Wolf followed Dozy Doe through Forest for almost a day. It was late afternoon when she shook her sack beside Long Creek and Fawnish rolled out, bleating and sweaty. Wolf watched Dozy give Fawn some water. Then they curled up and took a nap in Shade, among Primrose, her pale yellow blossoms nodding with them.

Wolf was still watching when Dozy Doe stirred a few hours later. She blinked her eyes and checked her surroundings, using her ears and nose more than her eyes. She did not sense Wolf, of course, he was very skilled at his job. As Dozy stood, Fawnish awoke. She was frightened and hungry. “MehMeh,” she called for her mama. Dozy turned away and ate Clover and Stinging Nettle and Daisy. She had no milk to give Fawnish.

Evening stayed a very long time as he waited for Summer Solstice to arrive. Solstice was due in a few weeks. So, it was nine o’clock before Dark was completely in control; even Moon was hidden by Cloud. Fawnish was finally sleeping again. Dozy had made a juice with Hops, a lot of Hops, and when Fawnish drank it, she became quiet and calm. Dozy rolled her back into the burlap sack and tossed it over her right shoulder.

With Wolf close behind, Dozy stepped daintily through Bangan Forest, making her way out of Forest’s Centre without using any of the hundreds of available paths. She moved stealthily as she got closer to Widest Path. Wolf crept behind her, just as stealthy, just as quiet.

It seemed that no one moved at all in Darkness, but of course, raccoons and skunks and bats were everywhere. Lynx watched from Spruce’s Lowest Branch. She saw exactly what was going on- Lynx could see what others could not. She knew who was in the burlap bag.

Council had met, of course, many times about Disappeared Deer. Experts had been brought in, studies studied. Theories abounded, most of them involving foul play, humans and poachers. Councillor Eagle couldn’t let go of the UFO angle and he was harshly judged for his alien theory, but to be fair, Eagle really does fly awfully high, sometimes quite close to Sun, and sometimes he reports seeing things that the residents of Bangan Forest can hardly believe.

When Dozy Doe’s sharp hooves finally reached Widest Path, she held her head higher. She moved more slowly as she click-clacked her way down safe passage. All animals were respected on Mnaadendmowin as the ancestors called it. No blood was spilled there; in fact, arguments were rare.

Widest Path was busy with animals of all kinds. From mice to buffalo, animals used the north-south thirty-mile trail to effectively get from one end of Bangan to the other, with Debwewin River at one end and Danger Road at the other. Dozy Doe was safe in the crowd and she dallied at times, to eat some greens along the edge of Widest Path. It took Dozy Doe 6 days to reach the border at Danger Road.

Wolf was wondering how Dozy planned to get her burlap sack past Border Bears. Big and tough, Border Bears guard every legitimate crossing out of Bangan Forest. Runaways and poachers avoided busy crossings such as this one at the end of Danger Road; they knew they would be questioned and possibly searched.

Dozy had arrived with Morning and the crossing was busy. Wolf was hiding behind Buffalo’s gigantic suitcase when Dozy stepped up to Border Bear #5. Wolf could hear every word, but they barely spoke.

Border Bear #5 nodded at Dozy. She blinked her long lashes and handed him the burlap sack.

Wolf furrowed his bushy eyebrows.

Border Bear peeked into the burlap sack and then tucked it into Hollow Aspen Stump nearby. As he dumped Fawnish into Stump, he pulled out a small packet wrapped in green leaves like a gift. He handed this to Dozy. Dozy simply said, “Thank you Border Bear #5,” and she turned around and walked back down Widest Path, away from the crossing.

Wolf had one second to decide: follow Dozy Doe or stay with Fawnish.

Wolves are clever, you know, almost as clever as humans, and in a split second, Wolf came up with a third option. He darted to Hollow Aspen Stump, grabbed the burlap bag in his teeth and raced after Dozy. When she saw him coming, she started to run. It was instinct; she didn’t have to run from him on Mnaadendmowin where every creature is respected. He was unable to hurt her there, even if she was a deer-napper.

Yes, you are quite right: now is a good time to admit that this was one of the weaknesses of safe passage- occasionally wrongdoers did take advantage.

Dozy Doe was ahead of Wolf, and she was getting hard to see in the crowd. Wolf skidded to a stop, held the bag containing Fawnish close to his heart, raised his nose to Father Sky and howled. He howled the names of the missing: “Loretta, Mae, Kayleigh, Mercedes, Abigail, Barbara, Jocelyn, Donna, Trisha, Susan, Virginnia, Liz, Katelynne.”

All animals on Widest Path stopped walking and talking, so that they could hear the names. Even Cardinal and Sparrow and Wren stopped flying and settled on branches to listen. Dozy Doe had no choice but to stop running down Widest Path for as everyone knows, Mnaadendmowin is a path of respect.

“Josephine, Helen, Eveline,” howled Wolf as he approached Dozy.

“Stop it!” She hated his howling, night after night, she hated it.

“Jane, Delta, Chloe, Kelly.”

“Please stop!”

“Show me the green package you were given at customs.”

Dozy Doe hung her pretty head and pulled the package out of her pocket. Wolf took it in his paws and unwrapped giant Burdock Leaf to reveal 2 boxes of sugar cubes and one box of individual sugar packets.

“Thank you,” he said to Burdock Leaf and then put her in his mouth to chew. “Are you running a coffee house now?” he asked Dozy.

Dozy started to cry. “Give it back. You don’t understand. I need it.”

“Look at what you are doing to feed your sugar addiction. You had children once. Can you imagine someone taking them away from you?”

“Someone did do that to me.” her head was still hanging low and her voice was solemn. “My children were taken and my heart was broken and so when the sugar called my name, I had no reason to say no.”

Wolf opened the top box and handed her a sugar packet. She stood straighter then and looked around at the nearby traffic: 3 groundhogs holding hands as they waddled across Widest Path instead of down it, Jumpy Rabbit eating Red Clover off to the side, Turtle in a black cap finally making some progress.

Dozy shook the sugar packet with a shaky hoof.

“What happens to fawns?” Councillor Wolf asked her. “Where do they go next?”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Dozy, tearing the corner of the sugar packet.

“They never come home Dozy. Where are they?”

“Adopted, maybe?”

Wolf raised one angry eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“I heard that they travel around the world, singing and dancing and having a wonderful time.”

“Heard from who?”

“Blue J.”

“You get your news from Blue J.?” He raised one bushy wolf eyebrow. Wolf dismissed stories that came from Blue Jays. Only blue jays care about what other blue jays think and that’s a fact.

Wolf performed a proper investigation at the border, even planting an informant among bear border guards, but no new information came to light. Border Bear #5 went before The Council of Seven. He testified that he always left the burlap sacks of deer in Hollow Aspen Stump at night and in the morning, deer would be gone, and two parcels would be left in her place: a bundle of berries and bark for him, and a package of sugar for the next deer-napper. He lost his job as a Border Bear and went back to his childhood name: Greedy Bear. Council asked him to join the Winter Food Cupboard Crew and over time, Greedy Bear did learn a little bit about giving.

Dozy Doe went before Council and admitted her membership in Forest Boys, a local gang mostly occupied with smuggling sugar. Eagle used Love to heal Dozy’s broken mama heart and after some time, Dozy gave up the sugar… and criminal activity too.

Fawnish was carried home on Councillor Wolf’s back. She was weak then, in need of her mother’s milk, but he got her safely back to her mama. Can you imagine the joy in Outer Meadow? It was a sight to see: deer dancing and laughing and prancing!

And now, I must tell you something difficult. Yes, the truth is hard sometimes, but we can still work together for a happy ending to this story.

This is the terrible truth: fawns continue to disappear to this day. There must be other routes, other deer-nappers. Of course, the older females are different- they choose to run away or work in Town – but they disappear too, and they are just as loved, just as hard to find.

It is still a mystery, the facts are not known, hundreds of females are lost out there- maybe as close as the nearest Town, maybe as far as a stage in Japan. They might be travelling the world. They might be trying to get home. There’s a chance, and no one wants to talk about this possibility, but there’s a chance that they’re dead. All of us here in Bangan Forest miss these fawns very much. They were supposed to grow up here, helping us, as deer do, with pruning and so on. They were our future Council members and who knows- teachers, ballet dancers, valuable protein meals.

There’s a chance too that they are singing and dancing in your town.

Could you keep an eye out for these dappled deer with gorgeous legs? Their mothers want to see them. Their fathers feel helpless. Wolf howls their names every night. You can know them if you listen: “Loraine, Nashie, Shelley, Minnie, Verna, Spring, Laura, Savanna, Jordina, Viola, Margaret, Regis, Mitzi, Rebecca, Paula, Maxine, Theresa, Vivian, Mary, Tashina, Sarah, Robyn, Patrina, Melissa, Lynn… “

After he howls the names, Wolf runs around Mother Earth, circles her every single night looking for Disappeared Deer. Moon assists, but even so, Wolf could use a hand at this point. I mean, if you see some pretty female deer on the street, please, just take a moment and ask: “What’s your name? Where are you from? Do you want to go home? How can I help you?”

Deer at Mud Lake eating Sumac

The post Disappeared Deer, a story from Bangan Forest, by Laurie Fraser appeared first on Laurie Fraser.

Debwewin River – a story from Bangan Forest, by Laurie Fraser

Debwewin River

Oaky Dokey’s testimony was the most interesting, just because he was the oldest witness, the oldest by far. Oaky Dokey was 436 years old. Can you imagine? He has seen more than 5,000 full moons. He remembers when Bangan Forest had no borders, when there was nothing but trees and rivers and rocks; nothing but animals and birds and plants.

Oaky Dokey wasn’t the oldest tree, Black Gum was even older, but Oakey Dokey had spent his entire life beside Debwewin River with his roots pushed right through River’s North Bank, his gnarly toes in water every day. He was the best witness to what had happened to Debwewin, and so it was his role to come before Council and talk truth.

The case had been brought before the Council of Seven by Debwewin River himself. He cited his right to be clean. Council had come to River to hear witnesses on North Shore.

Oaky Dokey grew on a small crest; River was slightly lower and water was wide here. Long Grasses loved both water and land; they danced all over North Shore. Spectators and supporters had trooped over with the seven Council members and they stood around in small groups. The situation was critical.

Oaky Dokey had a gravelly voice. “From the time I was a boy, River has been my friend, cooling my toes, quenching my thirst, growing my leaves, fattening my acorns. We are entwined and my health depends on him.”

“What changes have you witnessed over the years?” Councillor Crow led the questioning.

“Before Town was built,” said Oaky Dokey, “changes were seasonal: flooding, freezing. Current moved around and Sand Bar was erratic, but the quality of water never changed. Spring streams fed Debwewin fresh melted snows and he was clean. Since Town arrived, I sometimes see garbage in River: plastic bags and cigarette butts. Sometimes there is a smell or a pool of oily substance floating on top of water and she can’t breathe then, through that oil.”

A surge of agreement erupted from groups of deer and beaver and heron.

Ducks quacked loudly from River and frogs pumped their fists. They hated the oil slicks. Trout had already testified about the smell. Goose had brought evidence: one of her babies was all sticky.

“Flooding has increased,” continued Oaky Dokey, “and streams come earlier now that Heat has intensified. Year after year, it is too warm. But the dramatic change has been recent, ever since Town humans built pipes and culverts to join Town water with River. Town water is dirty- brown and smelly- and it mixes into River, our pristine Debwewin.”

Stream testified next. “More animals come to me now because I am clean, and I taste better than River. They are depleting me.”

Councillor Turtle was concerned with Truth and so it was he who spoke next. ”Debwewin River has the right to be clean. It is his birthright. More than that, Debwewin shows us our true selves when we look into him. This truth must not be distorted by garbage or oil. Water must be clear.

This very council uses Debwewin River to show wrongdoers the truth of who they are. It is essential that water reflects clearly for the health and good function of our community.”

Councillor Wolf raised his bushy eyebrows. “May I remind you that Mr. Fisher is waiting for his day in court.”

Everyone already knew that Debwewin River’s case had been pushed ahead because of the Fisher case. There was no way to help Mr. Fisher when there was no Truth to be seen in Debwewin.

“Clearly there is an urgent need to rectify the problem,” Councillor Wise Beaver spoke up. “I’ve been out to the site a number of times. It is a matter of re-directing that sewage water back into Town. Give me a team and 3 days.”

It took 3 days of stealthy work and 3 nights of manic work. It took 45 beavers, maybe 20 or so turtles, and a slew of muskrats and otters. It took about a hundred otters, but you’d swear it was a thousand the way they swarmed the project… and wanted all the credit too at the end.

Wise Beaver’s design perplexed Town humans. It was weeks before they realized that their dirty water was being recycled right back to them. Wise Beaver had blocked the pipelines with dams so that dirty water couldn’t reach River. Otters’ slides and tunnels re-routed that Town water right into the water tower on the edge of Town.

Councillor Eagle took Debwewin River under her loving wing and he healed rapidly there. The trees and plants and animals poured love and gratitude into River as he quenched their thirst once again.

Mr. Fisher’s case came to Council and it was agreed that the time had come for Mr. Fisher to stop hitting Mrs. Fisher. Crow walked with him to Debwewin River, and Fisher looked at his own face in water.

Debwewin showed him the truth of who he was, for when Mr. Fisher looked in water he saw himself as a boy. A sad boy; a scared boy. He saw his father hitting his mother. Then he saw his father as a boy. A sad boy; a scared boy. He saw a teacher hitting that boy. And then Debwewin showed Mr. Fisher another truth. He showed him Little Fisher, his own son, sad and scared, growing up and hitting his wife.

Mr. Fisher saw all these truths in Debwewin River. He understood that he was a hurt fisher; not a bad fisher. Like all animals in Bangan Forest, Fisher trusted Debwewin River, and so he believed the Truth of who he was.

Humans figured it all out, of course- they are the clever ones. The Town workers unblocked the pipelines, bulldozers ripped apart the dams and tunnels. Garbage flowed directly into Debwewin River once more.

So, Wise Beaver’s team got back to work.

And then the bulldozers came back.

Just when it looked like the cycle would never end, a teenage human posted a few pics on Instagram. They went viral- did you see them? Pics of beavers at work, bulldozers at work, sewage flowing into River, trees weeping, ducks unable to fly with their heavy oily wings. Those pics were shared all over social media.

A reporter came and interviewed Oaky Dokey, Wise Beaver and Town Mayor. Mr. Fisher was on the news too. He explained how Debwewin had shown him his true self. He had taken his hurt to Eagle who gave him so much love, that he came to forgive himself and his father too. But the most important interview was with Debwewin River himself. It was the first time a river had been interviewed by a human.

The media exposés about the cycle of waste made people angry. Humans in Town gathered outside the mayor’s office. They pumped their fists like frogs. They pumped their fists for frogs… and oak trees and fish and fisher families. They protested for Debwewin, the truth of the matter.

And so it came to pass that Town workers installed some expensive machines that clean water. Beaver Team became a consulting firm, much in demand in Town. Mr. Fisher became a loving husband; Little Fisher grew up to be peaceful too. And Debwewin River’s rights were upheld- the right to be clean, the right to be treated as a living being, the right to be his own true self.

© Laurie Fraser 2021

The post Debwewin River – a story from Bangan Forest, by Laurie Fraser appeared first on Laurie Fraser.

Debwewin River – a short story by Laurie Fraser

Debwewin River

Oaky Dokey’s testimony was the most interesting, just because he was the oldest witness, the oldest by far. Oaky Dokey was 436 years old. Can you imagine? He has seen more than 5,000 full moons. He remembers when Bangan Forest had no borders, when there was nothing but trees and rivers and rocks; nothing but animals and birds and plants.

Oaky Dokey wasn’t the oldest tree, Black Gum was even older, but Oakey Dokey had spent his entire life beside Debwewin River with his roots pushed right through River’s North Bank, his gnarly toes in water every day. He was the best witness to what had happened to Debwewin, and so it was his role to come before Council and talk truth.

The case had been brought before the Council of Seven by Debwewin River himself. He cited his right to be clean. Council had come to River to hear witnesses on North Shore.

Oaky Dokey grew on a small crest; River was slightly lower and water was wide here. Long Grasses loved both water and land; they danced all over North Shore. Spectators and supporters had trooped over with the seven Council members and they stood around in small groups. The situation was critical.

Oaky Dokey had a gravelly voice. “From the time I was a boy, River has been my friend, cooling my toes, quenching my thirst, growing my leaves, fattening my acorns. We are entwined and my health depends on him.”

“What changes have you witnessed over the years?” Councillor Crow led the questioning.

“Before Town was built,” said Oaky Dokey, “changes were seasonal: flooding, freezing. Current moved around and Sand Bar was erratic, but the quality of water never changed. Spring streams fed Debwewin fresh melted snows and he was clean. Since Town arrived, I sometimes see garbage in River: plastic bags and cigarette butts. Sometimes there is a smell or a pool of oily substance floating on top of water and she can’t breathe then, through that oil.”

A surge of agreement erupted from groups of deer and beaver and heron.

Ducks quacked loudly from River and frogs pumped their fists. They hated the oil slicks. Trout had already testified about the smell. Goose had brought evidence: one of her babies was all sticky.

“Flooding has increased,” continued Oaky Dokey, “and streams come earlier now that Heat has intensified. Year after year, it is too warm. But the dramatic change has been recent, ever since Town humans built pipes and culverts to join Town water with River. Town water is dirty- brown and smelly- and it mixes into River, our pristine Debwewin.”

Stream testified next. “More animals come to me now because I am clean, and I taste better than River. They are depleting me.”

Councillor Turtle was concerned with Truth and so it was he who spoke next. ”Debwewin River has the right to be clean. It is his birthright. More than that, Debwewin shows us our true selves when we look into him. This truth must not be distorted by garbage or oil. Water must be clear.

This very council uses Debwewin River to show wrongdoers the truth of who they are. It is essential that water reflects clearly for the health and good function of our community.”

Councillor Wolf raised his bushy eyebrows. “May I remind you that Mr. Fisher is waiting for his day in court.”

Everyone already knew that Debwewin River’s case had been pushed ahead because of the Fisher case. There was no way to help Mr. Fisher when there was no Truth to be seen in Debwewin.

“Clearly there is an urgent need to rectify the problem,” Councillor Wise Beaver spoke up. “I’ve been out to the site a number of times. It is a matter of re-directing that sewage water back into Town. Give me a team and 3 days.”

It took 3 days of stealthy work and 3 nights of manic work. It took 45 beavers, maybe 20 or so turtles, and a slew of muskrats and otters. It took about a hundred otters, but you’d swear it was a thousand the way they swarmed the project… and wanted all the credit too at the end.

Wise Beaver’s design perplexed Town humans. It was weeks before they realized that their dirty water was being recycled right back to them. Wise Beaver had blocked the pipelines with dams so that dirty water couldn’t reach River. Otters’ slides and tunnels re-routed that Town water right into the water tower on the edge of Town.

Councillor Eagle took Debwewin River under her loving wing and he healed rapidly there. The trees and plants and animals poured love and gratitude into River as he quenched their thirst once again.

Mr. Fisher’s case came to Council and it was agreed that the time had come for Mr. Fisher to stop hitting Mrs. Fisher. Crow walked with him to Debwewin River, and Fisher looked at his own face in water.

Debwewin showed him the truth of who he was, for when Mr. Fisher looked in water he saw himself as a boy. A sad boy; a scared boy. He saw his father hitting his mother. Then he saw his father as a boy. A sad boy; a scared boy. He saw a teacher hitting that boy. And then Debwewin showed Mr. Fisher another truth. He showed him Little Fisher, his own son, sad and scared, growing up and hitting his wife.

Mr. Fisher saw all these truths in Debwewin River. He understood that he was a hurt fisher; not a bad fisher. Like all animals in Bangan Forest, Fisher trusted Debwewin River, and so he believed the Truth of who he was.

Humans figured it all out, of course- they are the clever ones. The Town workers unblocked the pipelines, bulldozers ripped apart the dams and tunnels. Garbage flowed directly into Debwewin River once more.

So, Wise Beaver’s team got back to work.

And then the bulldozers came back.

Just when it looked like the cycle would never end, a teenage human posted a few pics on Instagram. They went viral- did you see them? Pics of beavers at work, bulldozers at work, sewage flowing into River, trees weeping, ducks unable to fly with their heavy oily wings. Those pics were shared all over social media.

A reporter came and interviewed Oaky Dokey, Wise Beaver and Town Mayor. Mr. Fisher was on the news too. He explained how Debwewin had shown him his true self. He had taken his hurt to Eagle who gave him so much love, that he came to forgive himself and his father too. But the most important interview was with Debwewin River himself. It was the first time a river had been interviewed by a human.

The media exposés about the cycle of waste made people angry. Humans in Town gathered outside the mayor’s office. They pumped their fists like frogs. They pumped their fists for frogs… and oak trees and fish and fisher families. They protested for Debwewin, the truth of the matter.

And so it came to pass that Town workers installed some expensive machines that clean water. Beaver Team became a consulting firm, much in demand in Town. Mr. Fisher became a loving husband; Little Fisher grew up to be peaceful too. And Debwewin River’s rights were upheld- the right to be clean, the right to be treated as a living being, the right to be his own true self.

© Laurie Fraser 2021

The post Debwewin River – a short story by Laurie Fraser appeared first on Laurie Fraser.

Stream Knows – a story from Bangan Forest, by Laurie Fraser

Stream Knows

It was one of May’s cool damp mornings. Fawn wore a beige sweater and an acorn necklace, but nothing on her legs. Her legs were so gorgeously awkward that no male of any species could pass by without gawking at them. Frogs and herons alike admired Fawn’s legs.

She came soundlessly out of Bangan Forest and stood for a moment where Long Grass began. Peace was all around except for Baby Jay squeaking for his mom. Turtle was beside Stream, acting like rocks. His dark eyes peered at Fawn from under the brim of his cap. Turtle was a sucker for legs, but he posed no threat. Fawn stepped over to Stream.

Her exquisite legs were on display as she splayed them apart and bent her mouth to Stream to drink, her saucy white tail in the air.

“Thank you,” she said to Stream, “you quench my thirst.”

“I’ve been gaining weight,” said Stream. “I could fill a camel.”

Fawn lifted her pretty head and looked around. At this point Stream moved slowly, hanging out with little pools and inlets, but further down Stream, rocks would break water into tiny white waves, causing Stream to spit up like a baby. She was small by nature, not a river, but Stream was long, and she knew mountain meadows as intimately as she knew Bangan Forest.

“I don’t know about a camel, but my brother is just behind me,” Fawn laughed her tinkling little laugh. The whole family needed Stream, and they visited every day.

Stream was birthed by Spring herself when Sun came closer each year. Sun hugged Snow with his many warm arms. Snow would melt with love for Sun and take off running and playing all the way down Bangan Mountain. And so it was that baby streams were born all over the place.

Sun hugged everyone- ice and snow, but also tree trunks and winter sleeping places. He woke bears and groundhogs and turtles. Old friend Rain came back as he always does, even Sleet showed up once in a while.

This Spring, Stream had grown until she felt quite large. Deep curves developed, pockets and eddies came into being. It was because of Sun’s warm kisses that her body was constantly changing. Stream adored Sun and would do anything for him, give him anything- even her own self.

Stream and Sun had a complicated relationship. History. They had kissed before- this wasn’t Stream’s first trip down the mountain, after all. Sun hugged the others- snakes and lizards and baby robins- but Stream was the one he kissed. Stream was special.

Stream freely admits to silliness and poor judgement those first heady days with Sun each Spring, when Pussywillow sang her songs, and Crow seemed to fight with everyone. Every year, Stream would expand and stretch under Sun’s attention, her little ripples giggling, her fingers reaching and reaching for more. She would rush and chase and take some crazy risks choosing her path, but streams are like that.

Of course, Day would grow longer then, and Sun had plenty of time for Stream. Stream could count on Sun to shine on her, warm her waves, glisten her peaks, reveal her precious stones. She loved to give to him- vapour, mist, wet kisses… whatever he asked.

The animals of Bangan Forest would come to slake their thirst and to feed too, for small fish frolicked in her. Stream slowed down with Summer and she gave to all who needed her: dragonflies, moose, clouds.

It wouldn’t be until late summer, but sooner or later, every year, Stream would give too much to Sun. Conversation would dry up first, and then it would come to pass that Stream herself would become quite weak. Sun became hard then, and he would dictate her path. He refused her soft kisses, and it broke her in places. Sun would glower and glare as Stream thinned. Bushes often grew nearby, gaining size by late summer, and she would try to hide under them. Sometimes clouds protected her. Rain rarely helped.

When Sun did bother to show up, he was cold and distant. He didn’t have much time for Stream. She would miss him then and call, but if Sun did pick up his phone, he made excuses: he had to work overtime, he wasn’t accustomed to Stream’s constant babbling.

The truth was that Sun had other streams. Spring was always arriving somewhere, causing melts and havoc everywhere she went. I mean, Spring is famous for that. In Paris or on a tall mountain, Spring will mess you up.

And this hard truth meant that Sun could not be present for Stream when leaves fell. Deserted every Autumn, Stream would cry until she was dangerously thin. Some years she barely survived, nothing but a frozen trickle on rock-hard ground.

Winter was good to her though, holding her safely in his strong arms every year. She could always count on Winter for some stability. He brought the Snows, and they guarded her too. She would rest there until Sun came nudging around again.

Oh, he was confident! He could play guitar and of course, being Sun, everything revolved around him. Beautiful, charismatic, he reached every year, reached for Stream.

“Not this year,” Stream would say, her icy thin arms still tight around herself under sleepy slopes of snow.

“Deer is thirsty,” Sun would tease. “She can’t drink ice.”

“She can eat snow!”

“Aww c’mon, Stream. Her babies are coming.”

“Not yet, they’re not.”

But Sun would flirt, you know how he does it- a clear ray right into an eye, a breaking smile, and then the hug that she had been missing… warmth.

“Sweetie,” he called her.

You could say that Stream never learns, but Stream would answer that she always forgives. Stream would say that she loves the cycles of life, the coming of Sun with all his mania, and the leaving of Sun with all his peace. Stream would say that when love encircles us- we must revel in it, expand, and when love has more important things to do- manoo, let it be, take a nap.

Stream knows about this, the cycles that always circle- seasons and water and love.

© Laurie Fraser 2020

The post Stream Knows – a story from Bangan Forest, by Laurie Fraser appeared first on Laurie Fraser.

Stream Knows – a short story by Laurie Fraser

Stream Knows

It was one of May’s cool damp mornings. Fawn wore a beige sweater and an acorn necklace, but nothing on her legs. Her legs were so gorgeously awkward that no male of any species could pass by without gawking at them. Frogs and herons alike admired Fawn’s legs.

She came soundlessly out of Bangan Forest and stood for a moment where Long Grass began. Peace was all around except for Baby Jay squeaking for his mom. Turtle was beside Stream, acting like rocks. His dark eyes peered at Fawn from under the brim of his cap. Turtle was a sucker for legs, but he posed no threat. Fawn stepped over to Stream.

Her exquisite legs were on display as she splayed them apart and bent her mouth to Stream to drink, her saucy white tail in the air.

“Thank you,” she said to Stream, “you quench my thirst.”

“I’ve been gaining weight,” said Stream. “I could fill a camel.”

Fawn lifted her pretty head and looked around. At this point Stream moved slowly, hanging out with little pools and inlets, but further down Stream, rocks would break water into tiny white waves, causing Stream to spit up like a baby. She was small by nature, not a river, but Stream was long, and she knew mountain meadows as intimately as she knew Bangan Forest.

“I don’t know about a camel, but my brother is just behind me,” Fawn laughed her tinkling little laugh. The whole family needed Stream, and they visited every day.

Stream was birthed by Spring herself when Sun came closer each year. Sun hugged Snow with his many warm arms. Snow would melt with love for Sun and take off running and playing all the way down Bangan Mountain. And so it was that baby streams were born all over the place.

Sun hugged everyone- ice and snow, but also tree trunks and winter sleeping places. He woke bears and groundhogs and turtles. Old friend Rain came back as he always does, even Sleet showed up once in a while.

This Spring, Stream had grown until she felt quite large. Deep curves developed, pockets and eddies came into being. It was because of Sun’s warm kisses that her body was constantly changing. Stream adored Sun and would do anything for him, give him anything- even her own self.

Stream and Sun had a complicated relationship. History. They had kissed before- this wasn’t Stream’s first trip down the mountain, after all. Sun hugged the others- snakes and lizards and baby robins- but Stream was the one he kissed. Stream was special.

Stream freely admits to silliness and poor judgement those first heady days with Sun each Spring, when Pussywillow sang her songs, and Crow seemed to fight with everyone. Every year, Stream would expand and stretch under Sun’s attention, her little ripples giggling, her fingers reaching and reaching for more. She would rush and chase and take some crazy risks choosing her path, but streams are like that.

Of course, Day would grow longer then, and Sun had plenty of time for Stream. Stream could count on Sun to shine on her, warm her waves, glisten her peaks, reveal her precious stones. She loved to give to him- vapour, mist, wet kisses… whatever he asked.

The animals of Bangan Forest would come to slake their thirst and to feed too, for small fish frolicked in her. Stream slowed down with Summer and she gave to all who needed her: dragonflies, moose, clouds.

It wouldn’t be until late summer, but sooner or later, every year, Stream would give too much to Sun. Conversation would dry up first, and then it would come to pass that Stream herself would become quite weak. Sun became hard then, and he would dictate her path. He refused her soft kisses, and it broke her in places. Sun would glower and glare as Stream thinned. Bushes often grew nearby, gaining size by late summer, and she would try to hide under them. Sometimes clouds protected her. Rain rarely helped.

When Sun did bother to show up, he was cold and distant. He didn’t have much time for Stream. She would miss him then and call, but if Sun did pick up his phone, he made excuses: he had to work overtime, he wasn’t accustomed to Stream’s constant babbling.

The truth was that Sun had other streams. Spring was always arriving somewhere, causing melts and havoc everywhere she went. I mean, Spring is famous for that. In Paris or on a tall mountain, Spring will mess you up.

And this hard truth meant that Sun could not be present for Stream when leaves fell. Deserted every Autumn, Stream would cry until she was dangerously thin. Some years she barely survived, nothing but a frozen trickle on rock-hard ground.

Winter was good to her though, holding her safely in his strong arms every year. She could always count on Winter for some stability. He brought the Snows, and they guarded her too. She would rest there until Sun came nudging around again.

Oh, he was confident! He could play guitar and of course, being Sun, everything revolved around him. Beautiful, charismatic, he reached every year, reached for Stream.

“Not this year,” Stream would say, her icy thin arms still tight around herself under sleepy slopes of snow.

“Deer is thirsty,” Sun would tease. “She can’t drink ice.”

“She can eat snow!”

“Aww c’mon, Stream. Her babies are coming.”

“Not yet, they’re not.”

But Sun would flirt, you know how he does it- a clear ray right into an eye, a breaking smile, and then the hug that she had been missing… warmth.

“Sweetie,” he called her.

You could say that Stream never learns, but Stream would answer that she always forgives. Stream would say that she loves the cycles of life, the coming of Sun with all his mania, and the leaving of Sun with all his peace. Stream would say that when love encircles us- we must revel in it, expand, and when love has more important things to do- manoo, let it be, take a nap.

Stream knows about this, the cycles that always circle- seasons and water and love.

© Laurie Fraser 2020

The post Stream Knows – a short story by Laurie Fraser appeared first on Laurie Fraser.

Stream Knows, a short story for Solstice, by Laurie Fraser

Stream Knows

It was one of May’s cool damp mornings. Fawn wore a beige sweater and an acorn necklace, but nothing on her legs. Her legs were so gorgeously awkward that no male of any species could pass by without gawking at them. Frogs and herons alike admired Fawn’s legs.

She came soundlessly out of Bangan Forest and stood for a moment where Long Grass began. Peace was all around except for Baby Jay squeaking for his mom. Turtle was beside Stream, acting like rocks. His dark eyes peered at Fawn from under the brim of his cap. Turtle was a sucker for legs, but he posed no threat. Fawn stepped over to Stream.

Her exquisite legs were on display as she splayed them apart and bent her mouth to Stream to drink, her saucy white tail in the air.

“Thank you,” she said to Stream, “you quench my thirst.”

“I’ve been gaining weight,” said Stream. “I could fill a camel.”

Fawn lifted her pretty head and looked around. At this point Stream moved slowly, hanging out with little pools and inlets, but further down Stream, rocks would break water into tiny white waves, causing Stream to spit up like a baby. She was small by nature, not a river, but Stream was long, and she knew mountain meadows as intimately as she knew Bangan Forest.

“I don’t know about a camel, but my brother is just behind me,” Fawn laughed her tinkling little laugh. The whole family needed Stream, and they visited every day.

Stream was birthed by Spring herself when Sun came closer each year. Sun hugged Snow with his many warm arms. Snow would melt with love for Sun and take off running and playing all the way down Bangan Mountain. And so it was that baby streams were born all over the place.

Sun hugged everyone- ice and snow, but also tree trunks and winter sleeping places. He woke bears and groundhogs and turtles. Old friend Rain came back as he always does, even Sleet showed up once in a while.

This Spring, Stream had grown until she felt quite large. Deep curves developed, pockets and eddies came into being. It was because of Sun’s warm kisses that her body was constantly changing. Stream adored Sun and would do anything for him, give him anything- even her own self.

Stream and Sun had a complicated relationship. History. They had kissed before- this wasn’t Stream’s first trip down the mountain, after all. Sun hugged the others- snakes and lizards and baby robins- but Stream was the one he kissed. Stream was special.

Stream freely admits to silliness and poor judgement those first heady days with Sun each Spring, when Pussywillow sang her songs, and Crow seemed to fight with everyone. Every year, Stream would expand and stretch under Sun’s attention, her little ripples giggling, her fingers reaching and reaching for more. She would rush and chase and take some crazy risks choosing her path, but streams are like that.

Of course, Day would grow longer then, and Sun had plenty of time for Stream. Stream could count on Sun to shine on her, warm her waves, glisten her peaks, reveal her precious stones. She loved to give to him- vapour, mist, wet kisses… whatever he asked.

The animals of Bangan Forest would come to slake their thirst and to feed too, for small fish frolicked in her. Stream slowed down with Summer and she gave to all who needed her: dragonflies, moose, clouds.

It wouldn’t be until late summer, but sooner or later, every year, Stream would give too much to Sun. Conversation would dry up first, and then it would come to pass that Stream herself would become quite weak. Sun became hard then, and he would dictate her path. He refused her soft kisses, and it broke her in places. Sun would glower and glare as Stream thinned. Bushes often grew nearby, gaining size by late summer, and she would try to hide under them. Sometimes clouds protected her. Rain rarely helped.

When Sun did bother to show up, he was cold and distant. He didn’t have much time for Stream. She would miss him then and call, but if Sun did pick up his phone, he made excuses: he had to work overtime, he wasn’t accustomed to Stream’s constant babbling.

The truth was that Sun had other streams. Spring was always arriving somewhere, causing melts and havoc everywhere she went. I mean, Spring is famous for that. In Paris or on a tall mountain, Spring will mess you up.

And this hard truth meant that Sun could not be present for Stream when leaves fell. Deserted every Autumn, Stream would cry until she was dangerously thin. Some years she barely survived, nothing but a frozen trickle on rock-hard ground.

Winter was good to her though, holding her safely in his strong arms every year. She could always count on Winter for some stability. He brought the Snows, and they guarded her too. She would rest there until Sun came nudging around again.

Oh, he was confident! He could play guitar and of course, being Sun, everything revolved around him. Beautiful, charismatic, he reached every year, reached for Stream.

“Not this year,” Stream would say, her icy thin arms still tight around herself under sleepy slopes of snow.

“Deer is thirsty,” Sun would tease. “She can’t drink ice.”

“She can eat snow!”

“Aww c’mon, Stream. Her babies are coming.”

“Not yet, they’re not.”

But Sun would flirt, you know how he does it- a clear ray right into an eye, a breaking smile, and then the hug that she had been missing… warmth.

“Sweetie,” he called her.

You could say that Stream never learns, but Stream would answer that she always forgives. Stream would say that she loves the cycles of life, the coming of Sun with all his mania, and the leaving of Sun with all his peace. Stream would say that when love encircles us- we must revel in it, expand, and when love has more important things to do- manoo, let it be, take a nap.

Stream knows about this, the cycles that always circle- seasons and water and love.

The post Stream Knows, a short story for Solstice, by Laurie Fraser appeared first on Laurie Fraser.