Jamieson Wolf's Blog, page 71

You Are the Gift – A Poem

There was a

box sitting on

the table. It

was an ordinary

kind of box,

beige and plain,

but there were

markings on the

side, as if

if had travelled

all over the

world. I looked

at the box.

“What’s inside?”

You smiled at

me and said:

“You’ll have to open it to find out.”

I pulled the

box closer, surprised

by how light

it was. I

shook it, hearing

nothing inside. I

looked at you.

“What’s inside?”

You only smiled,

the facial gesture

brightening your face.

“You’ll have to open it to find out.”

So, carefully, I

opened the box.

Light poured out,

filling our living

room with gorgeous

light, brighter than

any sun. The

light didn’t blind

Instead, it only

served to make

you look more

beautiful. I

looked to you.

“It’s beautiful. Where does it come from?”

You didn’t hesitate

when you answered.

“It’s my love for you, given physical form. I wanted to get you a gift and this was all I could come up with.”

I sat back

in your arms

and watched the

light play on

the ceiling, chasing

the shadows away.

I thought back

to how I

was, what I

had been, what

parts of me

I had left

behind. I was

a richer man

for having your

love in my

life in body,

mind and spirit.

I looked at

you and kissed

you gently, softly.

“You are the gift.”

I said quietly.

“I can’t imagine any better gift than you.”

The light from

the box grew

brighter as my

love light mixed

with your own.

We sat there,

entranced by the

glow of what

we had created

together.

Two Halves, One Heart – A Poem

There is a

legend that says,

once upon a

time, we were

two people that

shared a body.

Two heads, two

hearts. The Gods

got angry and

split us into

two, forever separate,

the soul grieving

for the lost

part of themselves.

Most of us

spend their entire

lives looking for

the other half

of themselves, the

missing piece of

who they are

and what they

could be. Some

don���t even know

what they���re looking

for, just that

they know something

is missing, that

there is a

hole, wider than

a dessert or

the deepest chasm,

inside of them.

We spend our

lives looking for

that spark in

someone���s eyes that

speaks of recognition

and puts a

spark within our

own eyes. Some

never find their

soul mate, they

never find the

other half of

their heart. I

am lucky to

have found both

of these in

one man, or

to have him

found me. When

he gave me

his heart, I

gave him mine

in return and

when they were

joined as one,

the skies themselves

sang out in

joy. My soul

sings out with

glee as our

hearts become one

and light from

within it shines

forth, lighting our

way ever forward,

the light growing

brighter with each

stitch of the

needle and thread

pulling our hearts

closer together until

it becomes one.

Memsieve – A Short Story

Here’s my third Pay It Forward offering for 2015. It’s a short story for Karolina. It came about in an odd way. Facebook has a new feature that offers us “memories” of what we posted on that particular day from years ago.

Pair that with Karolina’s talent for making jewelry and the story just came together.

Enjoy!

*

Memsieve

Karolina was losing pieces of herself.

She often pictured them seeping out of her ears while she was sleeping or escaping from her nose when she sneezed. She tried looking for them, but it was impossible to find what she couldn’t remember losing.

Her memory had started to deteriorate. She started to forget things like dates, birthdays, things she had to do. Then it was books she had read, songs she had listened to or the plots of movies she had seen.

Now it seemed whole years of her life were missing from her mind; things that had once been so important and had filled her up had slipped away like smoke.

Thinking there was a medical reason for this, she had seen every specialist and doctor she could find. She had been tested for Alzheimer’s, brain trauma, dementia, early onset Alzheimer’s disease, but to no avail.

The doctors said there was nothing wrong with her. Still, her memory faltered. Now she forgot places she had been to, poems she had been able to recite by heart and even the names of people she had known for years.

Carrying her worry with her like a shroud, she went to visit her grandmother. She knew instantly that something was wrong when she opened her door. “What troubles you my dear?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Nan.” She did not want to worry her grandmother with woes of memory loss. Who knew if her grandmother would get Alzheimer’s or something worse? She was an older woman but life liked to play cruel tricks sometimes.

“Nonsense.” Her grandmother said. “Tell me what troubles you.”

Karolina had never been able to say no to her grandmother. So, despite wanting to keep everything to herself, the whole ordeal came pouring out: how she had been losing memories, how she felt as if her mind were full of fog and her memories were like sand falling through her fingers.

When she was done, her grandmother got up and made her a cup of tea. This had always been one of her remedies whenever Karolina had been a girl. The scent of orange jasmine tea always filled Karolina with a sense of calm. She associated it with things set right and troubles solved, all at her grandmothers kitchen table.

“You have seer blood in you. So you need to see your memories again so you can hold on to them.”

“I don’t know how to do that. I’ve tried memory tricks, every one of them. Nothing seems to work to help me remember what I’ve forgotten.”

“I’m not talking about memory tricks. You’ve taken up making silver jewelry, haven’t you?”

“Yes, you know this. I gave you a pendant a few weeks ago.”

“I know.” She put her hand up to her neck, where the pendant shaped like a star hung. “You put so much of yourself in your art. Why not make something a bit bigger, something that you can see into.”

“Like what?”

“Well, what do seers use? Perhaps a small bowl or a mirror? Use your imagination, Karolina. The right tool will come to you.”

Heading home, Karolina thought of what she had to do. An image of a square mirrored surface came to her mind, a small rectangle that she could see her face and her eyes in. The image was so strong that her hands started to itch and she hadn’t even started yet.

When she got home, she went into her kitchen and made herself another cup of tea. Her cat, Owen, wove around her ankles. She reached down to scratch his head and made her way to her studio. She assembled the materials she would need: pieces of silver and pewter, her carving tools, soapstone and her ventilation mask.

She turned on the hot plate she used to heat her metals and wondered what to do in terms of a mold. She wasn’t making a piece of jewelry this time, though. So instead of making a large mirror, she carved a piece of soapstone into a simple flat surface, about 8″ by 10″. It would make the perfect mirror.

Pewter always went from shiny to dull when it cooled, so she added in some silver to lend the pewter some shine. She melted the metals over low heat and waited till it was a thick liquid. Then she poured the mixture into the soapstone.

She watched it cool, solidifying in front of her eyes, almost like time had been caught and slowed down. She etched a border in the rectangle panel, adding a small circle at the bottom of the frame for reasons she couldn’t name.

Thunder rumbled outside of her house. She had been working for so long that she hadn’t realized a storm had gathered overhead. She was about to close the windows when there was a charge in the air, as if someone had turned the sky on. She kept still, feeling that moving would interrupt that electric charge.

There was another crack of thunder and another pulse of electricity in the air; then her studio was blinding bright, filled with the white brilliance of lightning. She turned away from the brightness, closing her eyes lest the lightning blind her. Then she felt the electric charge leave the air. Owen was meowing outside the door to her studio and she went to the door and opened it.

He was frantic and she took a moment to calm him before turning back into her studio. All was as it should be…except for her scrying mirror. It was still sparking with electricity. When she was next to it, the last tongue of lightning faded away. She was astounded to see that it looked not like a mirror, but a tablet.

Though it had been struck by lightning, it was cool to the touch. She eased it out of the soapstone mold and held it in her hand. Looking at it, she noticed that the small circle at the bottom was now raised as if it were a button. Without giving it a seconds thought, she pressed the circle and wasn’t surprised when it went down and something clicked.

The silver glowed with a beautiful blue light that brightened her whole studio. It was as if the pewter and silver had somehow encased some of the lightning that had struck it. The scrying mirror hummed and then something appeared upon its surface.

Looking down, she saw a simple menu displayed upon it. It was a list of selections:

* Karolina – Ages 0-5

* Karolina – Ages 10-15

*Karolina – Ages 20-25

And so on. She hesitated only the smallest of moments before reaching out with a trembling finger and pressing on the silver screen, choosing her current age. Another menu appeared and she chose the last one at random. Her grandmothers face appeared as if she were looking at her, the whole scene playing from her point of view. Her grandmother sat at her kitchen table, her cup of tea clasped in her hands:

“You have seer blood in you. So you need to see your memories again so you can hold on to them.”

She hadn’t created a mirror, Karolina realized, but a tablet, a piece of electronics fuelled by lightning. She wondered how the scrying tablet had a record of all of her memories when the tablet answered her question as if she had spoken aloud. Another part of the conversation played on the glowing screen:

“You put so much of yourself in your art. Why not make something a bit bigger, something that you can see into.”

Karolina thought she understood, but in the end, it didn’t matter. She had her memories, and that was enough.

She went to the kitchen and placed the tablet on the counter while she made herself a cup of orange and jasmine tea. She eyed it with wonder and thought about the possibility of magic. Perhaps she did have the blood of a seer in her after all.

Karolina took her tea to the living room and sat on the couch. Owen got up and settled into her lap, purring contentedly. Taking a deep breath, Karolina pressed the button on the scrying tablet again and prepared to watch more of what she had forgotten.

An Ode to a Home – A Poem

When I moved here,

it was really an

awakening.

I stepped out of

the darkness of the

basement apartment,

with small windows

and a view of

the alleyway.

It was small enough

that I could stand

in my living room

and, with arms outstretched,

touch both walls.

I nicknamed it

the bat cave.

I had wanted to

find a place that I could

hide in and I did,

for six long years.

When I moved to

the place that became

my home, it was like

stepping out of the darkness

and into the light.

I began trying to

find myself within its walls

and outside of them.

I embraced life again,

finding joy in

the smaller things.

The sunlight streaming in

thorough the windows,

painting and writing,

the smell of incense.

the fact that I had

a bathroom within

the apartment.

More than that,

I found joy within myself,

within my perfect imperfections.

I found the light again

that lived within me.

It was a small flame

at first, but gradually,

it grew so that my

whole outlook on

life changed. Slowly,

I became me again,

letting the shadows

of my previous

apartment fall away.

As the light touched

the shadows I still

carried with me, it singed

the edges until the shadows

were nothing but smoke.

When the final shadow

was gone, I was free

of everything that had

held me down and held

me back. The forest

of trees was still there,

but it seemed far more

beautiful surrounded by

so much light. As I

prepare to move into a

new home and begin

another chapter of my

life, I realize I didn’t

just find a home here.

I found myself

and for that,

I will be eternally

grateful.

You Have Given Me The World – A Poem

From the moment

that we met,

my life has

been filled with

light. As our

love has continued

to grow, I’ve

changed. Now, instead

of hiding and

hoping for a

better life, I’m

living it. Instead

of wishing for

magic, I’m creating

it. Instead of

shying away from

all of life’s

pleasures, I’m embracing

them. Rather than

shy away from

anything, I’m meeting

things head on

unafraid of what

will happen. Instead

of waiting for

life to happen

to me, I’m making

my life happen.

Rather than try

to change me

into something that

you wanted me

to be, you

accepted me as

I was, as I

am, embracing all

of me and

all that I

could be. You

believe in me

even when my

belief in myself

flags or wavers.

You love even

the parts of

me that I

didn’t love and

now I see

myself in a

different light, through

a different lens.

You have changed

my life into

something so wonderful.

You have also

turned the world

from a mystery

waiting to be

solved into something

waiting to be

discovered. You’ve shown

me what true

love really is

and I’m a

better man because

of you. You’ve

given me the

world and I’m

eternally grateful for

your light. You

have given me

the world and

I can’t wait

to discover it

with you.

Love Light – A Short Story

Once upon a time, in the village of Inglewood Hamlet, there lived a Scribe and his lover.

The Scribe wrote stories of love that were so real to so many people in the village and the surrounding townships, many villagers felt that the characters were people they knew or friends that they had known for a long time.

Oddly enough, Jaxon knew his characters better than he knew most people. They were all a part of him. They were wiser than him, more adept at speaking their mind and following their hearts. He wished that it was just as easy for him to do so.

When he met Mikhail, the money lender had enthralled him Jaxon with his kindness and his strength of spirit. Jaxon had never met anyone like him. Mikhail was chivalrous, funny, incredibly smart and so down to Earth that Jaxon wondered if was made from the Earth itself.

They were out one morning, in the pub they had met in, having coffee when it happened. Jaxon realized he was in love with Mikhail. It was as if someone had lit a candle inside of him, so warm was the love he was carrying inside of him.

Jaxon almost dropped his coffee cup when there was a throb in his heart. He realized it was his heart starting again after being still for so long. He must have let out a small noise, for Mikhail took his free hand.

“Are you all right? Is there anything that pains you?”

Flushed with desire for Mikhail, Jaxon shook his head. “No, I’m all right. Just a little light headed.”

When he looked into Mikhail’s eyes, their blue-grey colour seemed to be even brighter than it had been only a second ago. Sparks jumped from his fingers and Jaxon wondered if it was because of the candle inside of him.

When Mikhail noticed the sparks, he only smiled. “This is new. You really are magical.”

Jaxon blushed an even deeper red and more sparks jumped out of his fingers. “Oh, this happens when I haven’t written in a little while.” He said. He wasn’t sure he could tell Mikhail what had caused the sparks. It was too soon, he had only known Mikhail for a month or so. It was too soon.

“Let me take you home then so you can write. One must not ignore their passions.”

Jaxon’s heart warmed even further at his words and even more sparks escaped his fingers. Despite the sparks, Mikhail took Jaxon’s hand anyway as he took him home. The sparks didn’t bother him, even though Jaxon was afraid they would hurt him.

Far from being afraid of the strange changes taking place inside of Jaxon, Mikhail only held on tighter to his hand. The candle flame within Jaxon grew brighter still and more sparkles fell from his fingers.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s causing this.” He said. He couldn’t tell Mikhail the truth, that he was completely in love with him. Jaxon was so worried about doing anything that would make Mikhail run.

For his part, Mikhail only brought Jaxon’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. “You have nothing to apologize for. Simply be yourself. You’re a scribe and that’s a certain kind of magic, isn’t it?” Mikhail kissed him softly on the lips. “Never apologize for being you. I’ll see you later this evening, yes?”

Jaxon assured him that he would and stepped inside his small living quarters. Unlike the tent he lived in previously, this new bedsit had walls and a proper floor, places for his books and a desk to write upon. It was a virtual palace to him after spending so long in the desert sands.

Trying to calm himself, Jaxon went to his desk, drew out his new quill and a bottle of ink and took out some parchment. He was writing. He was penning a tale of two men who had come together to find each other, despite life trying to keep them apart.

He wrote for an hour, feverishly filling up page after page of parchment, that he did not notice his bed sit was now filled with sparkles and the pages themselves now let out their own sparks. He was so intent on what he was writing that he didn’t even notice the wind that had started building inside his small nest of rooms.

Jaxon knew none of this of course, so intent was he on his writing. He only noticed when a particularly strong blast of wind came from the pages he was writing on. He was blown back onto the floor as the pages whirled around him. He shook his head to clear it and was startled to hear another voice in the room with him.

“So sorry about that. Let me help you up.”

A hand reached down to take Jaxon’s and pulled him up onto his feet. Jaxon was astounded to look into the face of one of his hero’s, a man named Gabriel. Jaxon would know his light hair, blue eyes and chiseled features anywhere.

“How can this be? How are you here inside my bedsit?”

“Well, don’t you know? Look around you.”

It was then that Jaxon noticed the brightness inside of his home. The sparks and sparkles filled every corner of his home with a light golden light. Jaxon felt as if he could step onto the clouds of light and walk upon it.

“I don’t understand.”

Gabriel smiled. “Don’t you? The light inside of you for Mikhail is so bright, so alive, that it can’t help but escape. It’s in your word, in your stories, in you. You write so beautifully of love that you bring your characters to life.”

“How do I stop this?”

“Why would you want to?”

“I can’t tell Mikhail that I love him, I just can’t. He’ll run away, I’ll frighten him away.”

“How do you know that he doesn’t feel the same about you? You have only to listen to your heart and let your words do the rest. It you don’t let the light out, let it flow, it’ll remain trapped, having to find other ways out of you.”

“What will happen if I tell him?”

“You’ll have to find out. You write your own story. Why do you want to stop it before it’s begun? Be honest about how you feel. It’s the only way.”

Jaxon was about to respond when there was a knock at his door. He turned toward it and then turned back to Gabriel only to find him fading away into a cloud of sparkles that joined the rest of them. Jaxon went to the door and opened it.

There stood Mikhail, surrounded by a shining gold cloud of sparks and sparkles and Jaxon wondered if he had ever wanted anyone more. “Mikhail, I have something to tell you.”

“Me first. I have something to tell you.” He stepped into the bedsit and took Jaxon into his arms. He kissed Jaxon softly and when he pulled away, he was smiling. “I love you.” He said quietly. “I know it’s too soon, it’s too early, but I can’t help that. I feel that I loved you from the moment I first saw you. You are the other half of my heart that I didn’t know existed. Please tell me you feel the same way?”

The candle inside of Jaxon reached a fever pitch and he wasn’t shocked to see that his skin was glowing. He wasn’t surprised to see the same light coming from Mikhail’s eyes, the light of his heart shining through for all to see.

“I love you too,” Jaxon said. “Beyond all comprehension, beyond words. You complete me.”

When they kissed, the light inside of both of them flowed out of them and reached far into the sky. Everyone who saw the light was changed that day.

Ladies who had long pined for other men and woman in the village found them and professed their love. Older people remembered the love they had long ago and instead of being filled with sadness were filled joy. Sailors returned to shore to find their wives and husbands and tell them how much they loved them. Men who had long gone without love realized they already loved someone and went to find them so that they did not lose their chance at love and happiness.

When Jaxon broke the kiss, his bedsit was filled with thousands of little sparks and sparkles that pulsed with light in time to the beating of their hearts. “See?” Mikhail said. “You’re magical.”

They kissed again and Jaxon could hear the flutter of the pages upon his desk as if Gabriel was giving his approval.

Or so the story goes…

When You Are Away – A Poem

When you are

away, I dream

of you at

night. You come

into my sleep

like the wind

and it is

a cool balm

on my skin.

When you enter

my dream, all

I can see

is the light

that emanates from

you, so bright

that I am

momentarily blinded by

you. In the

dreams, we are

hand in hand,

exploring unseen territory,

unknown places: great

expanses of sand

stretching as far

as the eye

can see, meadows

full of flowers

begging to be

picked, caverns and

caves or cliffs.

In my dreams,

we travel the

world together. When

I wake, I

still feel your

hand in mine,

your body next

to me. Though

you are away,

you are never

far from me

as I carry

you inside my

heart. When I

wake, my body

is filled with

light that chases

away the darkness

of night, though

our travels during

slumber stay with

me, clear in

my mind. When

you are away,

I lay down

to sleep at

night and wonder

where we’re going

next.

Choose to Live – A Poem

I was done.

I sat there,

a stranger inside

my own body.

I had a choice

but I didn’t

know how to

make it. I

didn’t know. I

was lost within

myself and what

I had become.

It was as

if my body

had become a

labyrinth and I

had no way

of knowing how

to find the

exit. The forest

was there, the

trees lush and

green inside my

apartment. They were

beautiful but I

knew the trees

deadly. Their leaves

were tinged in

blood. I ignored

them and the

whisper of their

call, turned away

from the lure

of the darkness

that I could

lose myself in.

Everything was finished

and I had nothing.

“That’s not true, though, is it?”

A small voice

spoke from the

trees. I looked

up into the

leaves and saw

a bright eyed

owl. It regarded

me with eyes

that shone like

gold. I shook

my head to

clear my vision.

The trees and

the owl remained.

“How can you hear my thoughts?”

The owl ruffled

it’s feathers and

regarded me with

a wise stare.

“How can I not when you think so loudly? How long has it been since you’ve been out of this apartment?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know. I go out for work.”

“But when was the last time you went out to simply live?”

I didn’t want

to answer its

questions so I

asked it one

of my own.

“How can you come from the dark forest? There isn’t anything beautiful in there.”

The owl laughed,

making a soft

hooting noise that

was like music.

“Oh, you know the forest so well do you? You know only the shadows of the trees, not the beauty that lies within. For even in darkness, there must be balance.”

I shook my

head, so sure

that I knew

more than the owl.

“The forest is only darkness. That’s all it has ever been.”

“Yes, but darkness comes from the absence of light.”

“What does that mean?”

“If it’s darkness that has you down, make light to chase away the shadows.”

“I’ve forgotten how. I’m too far inside the labyrinth and can’t find my way out.”

The owl ruffled

her feathers and

blinked her eyes

at me in

with impatience. She

flew down off

of the branch

and perched on

my leg. She

moved forward and

pecked at my

chest with her beak.

“It’s dark inside your mind, but not in here, where your heart is. You want light? Look there. Follow the light of your heart out of the labyrinth.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it’s not. Some choices in life are hard. However, it’s the ones that are hardest to make that give us the biggest reward.”

“So what choice do I make? I don’t know what to do!”

“Sure you do. You can either give up and accept things as they are, or you can choose to live and embrace life. The choice is yours.”

I thought about

what she had

said and what

I really wanted.

I knew that

this was no

life. I was

living as if

I had already

died. I closed

my eyes and

tried to see

the light at

the end of

the labyrinth, leading

me to freedom.

As soon as

I made the

choice to look

for the light,

I saw it.

I don’t know

why I hadn’t

seen it before,

perhaps because I

didn’t want to

see it. I raced

towards it, the

twists and turns

of the labyrinth

falling away as

I figured my

way through its

twists and turns.

When I got

to the exit,

the light was

waiting for me,

bright and beautiful

and full of

warmth. I stepped

into it and

raised my face

to it, letting

it cleanse away

the darkness.

“I choose to live.”

I whispered softly.

“I choose to live!”

I yelled this,

made it a declaration

of purpose, intent

and meaning. I

breathed in

the sunlight. It

filled me with

warmth that stretched

to every corner

and curve of

my body. When

I opened my

eyes, it was

to find that

the forest and

the owl were

both gone. All

that remained was

one feather. Written

on its plumage

was one word.

Live.

Triku – A Poem

When I think of joy,

your face comes to mind, fully

formed and beautiful

When I think of bliss,

I think of sleeping beside

you, safe, whole, content.

When I think of you,

I can’t imagine my life

without you in it.

A Scribes Wish Granted – A Short Story

Once upon a time, in the village of Inglewood Hamlet, there lived scribe.

He would tell tales bigger and wider than the impassable sands that bordered the Eastern side of the kingdom. He would spin tales of love that could fill the waters that bordered the Western side of the kingdom. He would write with his quill and paper well into the night, until his candles had burned down to stubs.

Many asked him how he wrote such moving tales of love. Surely there must be an inspiration? He would smile politely and thank them for their compliments, but would say he didn’t know where the inspiration came from.

The truth was, he wrote about what he wished for. There were a few times he thought he had found love, but it was of the darker variety. It would start out light and beautiful like a flower come to bloom, but every time it would end the same way, as if it were a flower with thorns that would make him bleed the tighter he held onto it.

So the Scribe let go of the dream of ever finding love, the other half of him. It was simply the way it had to be. He spent his days watching his friends fall in love and build lives with others. He could see the trees that they had planted together taking root in the ground and growing into gorgeous trees full of leaves. They could not see the trees, but he could. It was part of the Scribe’s curse, seeing that which others could not see.

When the whispering of the leaves became too much for him, he took himself to the furthest point into the Eastern border, deep into the sands that made up the desert. He built himself a small hut. He didn’t need any more space than that; space enough to sleep, eat and write. He lived only for his words now.

On his seventh night in the hut, away from civilization, he received a visitor.

He heard the sound of bells, playing a delightful tune that made him want to get up and dance to their tune. She always arrived this way. He remained sitting and put down his quill. A light began to shine in the middle of his hut and soon, it grew brighter, more vibrant. The light began to hum along with the sound of the bells and, with a small pop, she stood before him.

Her wings didn’t have much room to flutter in the small hut, so she kept them close to her back. Looking around at his living quarters, she huffed out a small sigh that sounded like wind flowing through leaves. “Well, I can see why you moved here, Jaxon. This is so spacious and lovely, it just takes my breath away.”

Jaxon let out a breath. “Good day, Suzanne. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Is that any way to greet your mother?” She smiled and moved closer. “Come give me a hug.”

He stood and did so, holding his mother in his arms. She was so much smaller than he was. Though she was Fey and had the smaller stature like all her kind, he knew she possessed the heart of a lion. When he went to pull away, she held on for one last squeeze and his body was filled with light.

Like all Fey, she had magic. Hers was the gift of light and wisdom. Her touch always brought light in the darkness and made your mind clear when it was clouded. To some, this was not a great gift, but Jaxon knew it for the power it was. She had inspired many an artist, helped many law makers in the land make sound decisions and had brought light to people most in need.

Now, she gave him the look he knew so well. “I’m worried about you, Jaxon. Why do you hide yourself away like this? To what purpose?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I’ve lived for hundreds of years and have seen more than you can begin to dream of. Really, why do you live like this? You came from magic and have magic all your own, with words that bring dreams to so many. Why do you hide away as if you are nothing?”

“It’s easier that way. I won’t get hurt that way.”

“You are hurting yourself. Do you not want to find love?”

“I do, but it isn’t for me. I’ve tried.”

“Then try again. You have to be open to love for love to find you. When was the last time you went on an outing? Almost a year ago now?”

“Sounds about right.”

“You write of the love you wish for, the love you desire, yet you hide yourself away where you cannot possibly meet any man you desire. Is there no one in Inglewood that has shown you some interest?”

Jaxon fiddled with his quill. “Well, there is one man. A man at the money lenders who I’ve spoken to through letters. His last few missives have become more open and honest.”

“Well, if he’s shown you interest, than perhaps you need to show some back.”

“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“It’s quite simple, people have been uttering this magical words for eons now.”

“What word is that?”

“Hello. It all begins with hello. The story blooms from there. When do you next go into town?”

“This afternoon. I’m almost out of ink and could use a new quill.”

“Fabulous. Then we have time.”

“Time for what?”

“To clean you up.”

“I look fine.”

His mother let out a small laugh. “I mean no disrespect Jaxon, but you look as if you’ve rolled with the pigs. You smell like it, too.”

She waved her hands and the little hut he lived in was filled with light once more. However, this time he was the source of the light. He was filled with warmth and heat and every part of him hummed with magic. When it faded, he looked down at himself.

His ratty trousers were new and made of a thick weave of cotton coloured in grey. His shirt was new too, and made of a finer weave than his trousers. He even wore a little vest that was coloured in shades of gold and silver.

“I don’t look like me.”

“Yes, you do. You look like everyone else sees you now. Your magic, Jaxon, it’s time you started acting like it. Now, did you need a lift to town?”

“No, that’s quite all right, I-”

Suzanne snapped her fingers and he was standing in front of the money lenders, quick as a flash. He really hated it when she did that. He had his bag slung over his shoulder, filled with his inkwells. He stood there in front of the money lenders, not sure what to do.

Wanting to gather courage, instead of going in the money lenders, he went to a small pub that served some elixirs and foodstuffs. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the pub, he saw a spark of light in front of him.

The man he had been speaking to through letters, Mikhail, was there at a table; and he was looking at him.

It was as if he were propelled forward. With a few steps, he was in front of Mikhail. Though Jaxon had sensed his kindness through his letters, nothing had prepared him for seeing Mikhail in the flesh. Jaxon’s heart beat with something he could not name at first, so foreign it seemed within him. However, after a few moments, he could put a name to that emotion: Hope.

He smiled at Mikhail and said the only word that came to mind: “Hello.”

“Hello.” Mikhail responded

As Jaxon looked into Mikhail’s blue and grey eyes, the hope within him grew brighter. The light inside of him matched the light that shone from Mikhal’s eyes, and that light came from inside of him.

There are those that said on that day in the small village of Inglewood Hamlet, the sky was filled with stars. Others said that surely a great and powerful witch or sorcerer had cast a spell so large it could be seen miles away. Even more said that they saw a bright light emanating from the pub that filled them with every happy memory they had ever experienced.

There was one woman who knew what had happened, however. She looked out from the clouds at the light shining below and knew that the light meant that her son had fallen in love, so pure and powerful was the light.

Or, so the story goes…