“I hate working shifts. No sunlight, only the artificial stuff. I can almost feel my bones crumbling from the lack of vitamin D,” Howard moaned to his co-worker, Deidre.
“It’s not so bad working nights,” she replied. “It is kind of romantic.”
“Romantic? I think these night shifts have driven you around the bend.”
“Not at all,” she retorted. “We live in the world of stars and stardust.”
“And incandescent light,” Howard mocked.
“Okay Mister Practical. When was the last time you got stuck in a traffic jam?”
“On our last day shift,” Howard replied.
“Exactly,” Deidre said. “Besides, I like going to sleep with the moon. It’s kind of romantic, like I said earlier. I can see the world from a fresh place, full of possibility. Like the poet said, ‘In their dreams they sleep with the moon.’ I do that. It’s poetic.”
It was not one of those occasions in which people might say, “a good time was had by all.” In fact, it was a time of stress, and a period of frustration. The mission had seemed simple enough: “Go forward under the cover of darkness and secure the bridges on the Rivers Telia and Jondin.”
At first all seemed to be going well. The feint towards Neliton had drawn the main force of the enemy northwards, and the small raiding force took the Telia Bridge just after midnight with little opposition. Then the rain began.
This storm was a deluge of biblical proportions. The road became a quagmire, and progress towards the Jondin negligible. By dawn, Captain Wells summed it up, “We did our best, but when it is over said and done, it was a time and there was never enough of it.”
dVerse – Prosery: “when it is over said and done it was a time and there was never enough of it.”–Allison Adelle Hedge Coke, “A Time”
I don’t know why I was surprised every time love started or ended. It’s the way of things, isn’t it? Boy meets girl, and boy and girl fall in love. Then things happen, whether it is conflicting interests, or “greener grass” next door. They move apart, and one or the other is heart-broken and will “never love again.” Before you know it – Well – girl meets boy, and the world goes on. So why should I be any different? After all, I write novels, my trade is to pen such convoluted stories. But to be honest, I write them because I think something is missing in me. So when it, love that is, actually “happens” in real life and not on the page, it’s kind of disconcerting. Love, and life for that matter, is quite a funny thing that way. It seems full of surprises.
“Why yes, they are included, but its more than that. It’s a place to remember all the holy saints from the past.”
“That would take a lot of stained glass to get them all in,” Tillie reflected.
“It’s not really about all that. In fact, it isn’t even about the ‘named’ saints from the past. You see the Bible says all Christians are saints, and there isn’t just this place to remember them, but there is a day for it too.”
“What day is that?” Tillie asked.
“All Holies Day, the day of all holy people.”
“When is that?” Tillie asked, not being able to place it.
“November first, right after All Holies Eve. You call that Halloween.”
“I can’t believe it. She has actually posted a quote from some poet on her Facebook: ‘You will love again the stranger who was your self.’” She needs to love herself – what a laugh! All she ever loves is herself, and she even goes so far as to blame me for the breakup. It was me who took her to all my favorite places. I made sure that whenever I went out with my mates I made sure she came along. And all those things, I bought her. Did she appreciate what they cost me? And the clothes I got her made her look so hot, all the guys were jealous of me when we were out. How can that cow dare imply that it was about me? She’s the one that’s full of herself, ‘love again . . . yourself,’ she’s never stopped. It’s just unbelievable!”
“I was sitting on a throne like thing, and hundreds – no, thousands of people were gathered in front of me. The women were all in white, and they were all looking at me. They were waiting for me to say something,” I explained.
“Interesting,” she responded. “So what did you do?”
“I didn’t want to let them down, so I stood up and said something about how wonderful it was for them to have all come, and that they were truly terrific examples for people in today’s world. I exhorted them to show love and commitment to one another, in the same way they were showing it to me.”
“Sounds a like a really interesting dream,” my therapist said.
“Really?” I asked.
“And what do you think it means?” she asked kindly.
“I guess – I guess that, I dreamt I was the Moon.”
François and Jules had been clearing dead wood from a fire-break on the north side of the ridge. It was tedious work, and while necessary, it lacked the satisfaction of felling the massive pines which was their usual work.
Jules had just shut off his chainsaw when far away an interrupted cry broke the quiet.
“What was that?” François questioned.
“Something ungodly, to be sure,” his companion responded uneasily.
“Maybe we should have a look,” François suggested.
There was suddenly another eerie wail which again seemed to be cut abruptly short.
The two lumberjacks stared at each other with looks of apprehension.
Jules grabbed an axe from the pickup truck, and beckoned his colleague to follow him.
As they crested the ridge, neither man could believe his own eyes. There before them was a huge Sasquatch with her leg caught in a bear trap.