Reclamation

“Cover up,” they were told. “Once nature starts to reclaim you, it’s best to hide the markings for as long as you can. No one wants a reminder of our mortality.”

So it was with the Folk of the Creeping Wood. Long lived as they were, even they did not live forever. Unlike humans who are reclaimed by the earth after the life has left their bodies, the earth began to take back the Folk while they were still alive. What began as small markings, resembling painted vines or branches, slowly became more and more real, until it was impossible to tell where the person ended and plants began. Most covered up their markings for as long as they could, until the vines crept down their legs and rooted them to the earth. It was better, they thought, to not remind others or themselves that they too must come to an end.

Not so with Van. This particular Folk walked uncovered amongst their peers as the painted vines crept further and further over their head and neck. Each fearful look, they returned with a smile or a knowing nod. Van welcomed the change. Having been between worlds more times than any other resident, Van did not fear this new venture. Van had lived several lifetimes in the time that most Folk live one. Van had loved, lost, and learned more each time they lived. In this way, they viewed the reclamation not as an ending but as a transformation, a new journey.  A journey that would quite possibly bring them back to her.

The Process

We are all a creative force in the world. Witness the act of creation firsthand and become a part of the process. Peek behind the scenes as I create and learn along with me as I make some magic.

Exploring the Natural World

The land on which we live is magic in its own right. Walk deeper into the woods. Feel the warmth of the soil. Follow along on my adventures in the natural world, from exploring to gardening to backyard foraging.

Wind-Touched

She is the wind. She can cause your lungs to fill with the breath of life or leave you gasping and directionless.  She skirts from one breeze to the next, riding the gales to her destination but not with bit and bridle. She sheds the bonds of the physical until body and spirit become one with the wind, melding with its mercurial nature. Its destination is her destination if there is such a thing as a destination to be reached.  Those who catch a fleeting glimpse of the wind rider recall sharing in the sense of freedom and weightlessness if only for a moment. What will they do with that feeling once she has sailed on?

Flicker

A flicker of swirling blue cloth in the corner of your vision grabs your attention. It stands out against the stark winter landscape. Spent leaves litter the ground, and now that your senses are heightened you can hear footsteps crunching in the leaves behind you. You turn, eyes following the sound and focusing in on its source. A person? They are humanoid in shape aside from three small horns which protrude in a vertical line above each eyebrow. Their eyes scan the arid terrain with something akin to wonder, inspecting each leaf before gazing up again to peer at the noonday sun peeking through the pre-snow haze. Their gaze shifts again to a cracked twig, an indentation in the mud, a scent on the air.

If they hadn’t been robed in that cerulean shawl, you would have sworn they were tracking something, the childlike wonder giving way to something more intense. A hunt perhaps? What could they be hunting with such lack of camouflage?  They stood out like a hummingbird whose glistening wings betrayed them as they moved from flower to flower, more prey than predator. You stand, trying to make heads or tails of this creature when it turns to meet your gaze, as if it was aware of you all along. Wide-eyed but unafraid its brown eyes hold your stare, daring you to look away. But of course, you don’t. How could you? It blinks and as if on cue, you follow suit.

Your eyes open staring at the empty space between the trees where something once stood. The sunset rays filter fuchsia and violet through the arid winter landscape. You dust an inch or so of snow off of your shoulders and continue your walk.

©2022 Nerdy Black Mom