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Date Posted: 14:37:57 09/22/10 Wed
Author: celtgirl
Subject: Inside>>>
In reply to: celtgirl 's message, "It's been some time since I posted anything, so in celebration of the fall and my return to actually getting some writing done each day, I thought I'd post a small piece. It's actually a chapter unto itself and ends out Part One of the 'Angels'. Some of you have seen the first paragraph of it before, but I finally turned it into something, albeit brief. :) I'll post it inside the first reply." on 14:26:11 09/22/10 Wed

copyright 2010 Cindy Brandner

Chapter Sixteen -The Dreaming Time

Beneath her feet the pine needles whispered softly of winter things. Of the coming cold and snow, of the dark half of the year when the quiet came down and enfolded the world in a mantle of calm. It was a time of year she had always loved, for the sense of the veil between worlds thinning was strong with her at such moments- and this year that was a comfort, to think that perhaps, of a chill night, Lawrence might come and warm himself beside the fire. Might sit beside Casey, in spirit, if never again in the flesh and they could once again be whole. That sometimes in the restless nights, perhaps when exhaustion bore him down, Pat might find solace in his dreams, that Sylvie would be there for a moment, all light and lilacs.

In such times, she knew, when the air is chill and the night longer than the day, one cannot avoid certain truths. For her this truth had sat like a seed deep inside, a small kernel of worry that was now leafing out into real fear. For Jamie had not come home with the spring or summer, and she did not think to see him now that the frost was heavy on the ground and the spiderwebs deserted in the hedgerows.

For this was the thin time when the earth lay bare her bones, and showed her gems in the random berry left on the vine, the sheathe of ice forming in perfect geometry across a pond and the black gleam of a naked birch branch. In this time dreams came unbidden, rippling up from the dark wellsprings of the unconscious, murmuring things one would rather not know. These were the dreams that haunted during the daylight hours, spun fine as webbing round the senses, bringing hard questions into the light.

She dreamed of a man cold and lost in a forest so deep, it surely sprung from a fairy tale, one of the ancient nebulous ones with old truths at their core. She did not see the man clearly, but she did not need to- she would know him anywhere. For she dreamed of Jamie.

The question that haunted her in the light of day was this- just where the hell was Lord James Kirkpatrick?

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