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The monthly Question from the Insecure Writers' Support Group is due today, Ash Wednesday. I wrote the Words for Wednesday yesterday, but forgot this. The answering of the question will be postponed to later this week March 5 question - If for one day you could be anyone or *thing* in the world, what would it be? Describe, tell why, and any themes, goals, or values they/it inspire in you.
My answer - Well maybe I already did this. Pondering if and when to answer, I'll repeat The Wand's Tale from December 11, 2019. It is a collateral part of my Unicorn Farm storyline.
The Wand's tale
And when my tree was big enough, and the leaves dropped every Autumn, I could see the far away sea.
The farm all the fields belonged to was built when or maybe even before my tree was planted. It was always there, When I was young, it was teeming with life, people, animals, and children, always lots of children. And horses. Those beautiful creatures, working in the fields all the workable months, and pulling carriages in Summer and sleighs in Winter, oh I remember the bells ...
Then slowly the teeming life died down, pigs, cows, horses, dogs, cats, and hens, all disappeared. The motor vehicles took over the stables, and of the farmer's couples with children, farmhands and maids and their children, harvest helpers and even more children, only the farmer and his wife remained. They grew old, but no new ones took over. The farm fell into disrepair. And one day it all just stopped. A farmer came ploughing, sowing and harvesting with a behemoth machine, but nobody lived nearby any more.
It was a lonely time, a meditative time. I grew, but more trees grew around me.
Every year the farm looked a bit more decrepit. I felt sorry for it. Then new houses slowly grew in the far away fields. The wind carried sounds of laughter, splashing and frolicking from the sea, sometimes even people singing bawdy songs at night, disturbing the birds. The terrifying, yet pleasant smell of smoke was often in the wind.
Strange people, dressed in black, looking serious and pompous came by car. They put up signs around the house, all the while speaking of demolishing and danger.
But nothing happened until one day in early spring. Some even more peculiar-looking people arrived. They re-hinged the doors and gates, they painted the walls, thatched the roofs and weeded the farmyard.
And then children began arriving, in pairs, in threes, alone or in small groups, Strange things happened, magic was around. I could feel it in my sap. I quivered all over. I felt something was about to happen. And then a girl put her hand on my tree. I felt her calling to me. I yearned to answer the call, but I did not know how to do it. An old lady came and she also placed a hand on the tree. Then she sang. A song of magic, of big deeds and wonders great and small. I was filled by this song, so filled that I burst. It felt like dying. I fell from the tree, broken, more alone that I had ever been. I fell and fell. The green grass came ever closer, but then a small hand, the girl's hand, was there, intercepting me, breaking the fall. I felt her love, and loved her back with all my wooden heart. She took me everywhere with her, all the time caressing my bark, grasping me tightly in her warm little-girl hands.
That very same evening we had our first taste of magic. She was happy, and so was I. Sparks flew, and we knew we were meant to be together forever.
We learned the ways of magic together, Susan and I. We brewed potions, transformed clothes pegs into swallows, we even flew. We kept her warm and safe on many travels and through many dire perils and small adventures.
But then the fateful Summer came. I still shudder when I think of it. The black wizard had arrived from his far away land. Susan and her friends fought hard and brutal, but always fair against him. Susan and I did awesome things that Summer, and even invented a thing or two. Oh, we worked together nicely. But he was strong and sly. He corrupted people's heart and soul. Not my Susan, but so many of her friends. We were afraid. And in the end we made the biggest sacrifice any witch and her wand can make. We renounced our magic, so that the Nordic Countries could remain free and proud.
That afternoon, as the day turned to evening, all the wizards were gathered. My Susan was so very brave, she was part of a small guerilla group. And they succeeded. Even thought their success was my demise, I was proud of her.
As they all spoke that one, terrifying word. I felt the magic leave me, I was only an old, dry branch. As Susan fell from the steps of the building, limp as a rag doll, I broke in three pieces, forever beyond repair.
