Perspectives of Scale
There was a woman who lived at the top of the hill, but everybody thought she was a witch, so nobody ever visited.
“I bet she’d cut off your toes, fry them in oil, and feed them to the dog,” Jacob said, grabbing his little sister by the arms and shaking her.
Jacob’s mother swatted him on the back of his head with a wooden spoon. “Stop that at once! Don’t scare your sisters.”
“She just stands there and waves,” whispered the mayor to his assistant. “Is she trying to lure up the children? What kind of maniacal things must she have planned? She never comes down. Where does she get food and cloth for clothing? Who built her house?”
His quiet secretary adjusted her glasses nervously. “Maybe she’s just lonely.”
“Then why doesn’t she come down?”
“Perhaps we’ll walk up one day and discover nothing but a scarecrow at the top,” said a weathered farmer. “Or a deceitful flagpole, blowing in the wind.”
The reverend clutched at his bible and beat his hand against the pulpit. “Whatever it is, it never comes to church, and only the children of Satan refuse to enter a chapel. Stay far away!”
The congregation nodded and prayed for the strange being at the hill’s crest, prayed that it might be saved in the final days, or prayed that it might be destroyed swiftly.
“She looks old but tall,” said a little girl, braiding her sister’s hair. They stared out the front window, looking at the woman in the distance. Today, the woman held a cane. She was bent over it, but still waving.
“And she has long hair,” the other sister whispered back. “Good for braiding. She must have the most beautiful pleats down her back.”
“If she knows how to braid! Maybe she needs someone to teach her.”
The girls sighed together, imagining how wonderful it might be to run their fingers through long, silvery hair.
The schoolteacher wagged her finger at her class. “This is a lesson for us all. You need a community to find friendship and success. But you also need to open your minds to things that might be strange and unexpected.” She didn’t say what she was talking about, but even the youngest kids knew.
Then, one day, the woman was not at the crest of the hill. She wasn’t there the next day, or the day after that, either. The townspeople thought she might have died, so they prepared a boat to carry her body out to sea, as was custom.
Five young men volunteered to travel up the hill to find the woman’s body. They’d always secretly wanted to see what she might be up to in her secluded home.
After walking for a day and a night, the young men soon realized that the hill was much farther away than the townspeople had comprehended. It took them three more days to reach its base. It was not a hill, as they’d always thought. It was a mountain.
They climbed up its treacherous face and zig-zagged along its ridges, trying to find the best way to the top. As they climbed, the trees that had always looked like slim, gentle saplings from so far away appeared, in reality, to be taller and wider than the greatest redwoods. The flowing grass that always looked low and gentle was actually lofty and fearsome when whipped in the wind.
When they reached the peak, what had looked like a simple cottage was now a vast, rugged mansion. The handle to the door was higher than any of the young men’s heads. They craned their necks to look up at the mansion’s impressive windows.
They could have boosted themselves up to peer in.
They could have stood on one another’s shoulders to open the door.
They could have found the body inside.
But, silently, the five young men turned around and crept back down the mountain, back toward their homes, because one thing was for certain: if the townspeople truly wanted to find the woman inside and set her body out to sea, they were going to need a much larger boat.
“Distressed”
Lillian watched as a new knight in shining armor came storming up to her castle, lance in hand, shield held high. He rode on a steed as noble as any, and bore the seal of the king across his chest. Definitely trained in hand-to-hand combat, archery, and the slaying of beasts, Lillian thought. His resume must have been impressive—ogres, giants, serpents, all must have fallen at his feet, a master of his trade. He didn’t stand a chance against her dragon.
As soon as he approached the moat, Lillian let out an ear-splitting wail. “Save me!” she called, trying to let all the helplessness she could muster seep into her voice.
He sat up a little straighter on his horse and looked toward her tower, nodding once he spotted her in the highest window.
As his horse’s hoof touched the drawbridge, a fearsome dragon swooped down from behind the turrets and sat directly in the entrance. She roared, opening her mouth as wide as possible to display her impressive row of teeth. Many knights turned tail at the mere sight of her, but this one wasn’t backing down.
She let out a stream of smoke that covered the bridge. The knight drew his sword and charged forward blindly, hoping to stab something, anything. She batted his weapon aside and thrashed out with her tail, knocking him off his horse.
Still, the knight wasn’t going down without a fight. He drew his crossbow and fired into the smoke. His arrows bounced harmlessly against her scales.
Tired of playing cat and mouse, the dragon leaned forward and cooked the knight on the spot. Her flames lit up the drawbridge and danced along the moat, singeing Lillian’s eyelashes with their impressive heat. The knight crumpled, his armor shriveling up like a grape turned raisin.
“He’s out!” Lillian called, pumping her fist.
Twig shook her head, smothering the still-burning flames with her paws. She wrinkled her snout. “His armor is toast. Where did the horse go?”
“He made it to the meadow, looks like,” Lillian said. She had an amazing view from her tower—she could see all the way to the nearest kingdom on a clear day.
“Let me grab it. One sec.” Twig unfurled her heavy wings and pushed off to glide toward the clearing just beyond the tree line. She picked up the startled horse with one paw and deposited the beast in the stables behind the moat.
“Sorry I roasted him. I should have held off on the fire, gotten my claws dirty first. You should check the horse,” she called. “Careful, this one is flighty.”
Lillian tromped down her tower’s steps and exited through the backdoor. No knight had ever been smart enough to look for a door, even the ones who made it all the way to the tower’s base before Twig fried them.
The horse was still panting and fidgeting nervously when Lillian made it to the stables, but it didn’t lash out at her. The saddlebags appeared to be intact, so Lillian flipped through their contents, not bothering to take them off the horse’s back. The Knight had brought a decent purse. He had a few gold coins and a handful of gemstones. He’d even been thoughtful enough to pack an engagement ring. Lillian smiled and slipped it onto her finger. It was a good one—perfect fit.
“It’s not much, but it’ll look good with the rest of the cache,” Lillian said, exiting the stables. She tossed the purse up to Twig, who caught it deftly.
“I’ve gotta stop using the smoke right out of the gate,” Twig complained, trying to open the purse with her claws. “It really ruins the whole game. He can’t see anything, I often mis-swipe and hit the horse—or worse, the loot.”
Lillian held out her hand and took the purse from Twig, helping tug free the drawstrings. “Yeah, plus I lose track of the battle,” she said. “It’s no fun for me when I don’t get to see you finish them off.”
Twig dumped the gold and stones into her paw. She huffed in disappointment. “It’s not great. We’ve done better. At least we can sell the horse.”
Lillian nodded, still admiring the ring on her finger.
“That’s lovely,” Twig said, noticing it for the first time. “He had taste.”
The two sat in silence for a moment, looking over their winnings. Twig shifted onto her stomach so that she could be eye-level with Lillian, adopting a more serious expression.
“Are you okay, dear? I noticed that your scream today was a little lacking. Not that I think it was bad—it’s just, you usually throw yourself into your work.”
Lillian shrugged. “I didn’t want to talk about this now, but…”
Twig scooted a bit closer, prompting her to go on.
“I’ll just say it.” Lillian took a deep breath. “I think it’s time for us to part ways. I need a knight, and you need a fresh damsel in distress, someone who’s new to the game. I’m just so tired of our act.”
Twig’s ears shot up in surprise. “You’re still young!” she said. “If this is about you aging, I can comfortably say you’ve got at least a decade of this left before the knights start to dwindle!”
“No, no, it’s just…” Lillian shook her head. “I’m so tired of screaming from a window and watching the world pass by me. I want a life! And I know what the next step is for girls like me.”
“You deserve it,” Twig said sadly. She sat back on her haunches and tossed aside the coins that she’d been clutching in her paw.
Lillian shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll find a good replacement damsel, and I’ll even stick around for a few months to train her, and—”
“No, no, dear me. You’ve put in your time,” Twig said, hushing her. “If you like, I’ll feign defeat for the very next knight that comes our way. I’ll even pull a few strings to make sure he’s one of the king’s own.”
Lillian smiled and patted Twig’s foot. “Really? That would be amazing. I’ve just waited so long for this.”
“You have. You deserve it,” Twig repeated.
***
The next week, a knight, gallant and brave, rode up to the castle with his flag flying high. He charged headfirst into Twig’s smoke and drove his lance through what he thought was her heart. Twig was so convincing in her death that Lillian nearly cried out.
“My fair lady,” he called. “The beast is dispatched, and you are free!”
She couldn’t help but grin as he scaled the tower wall and took her into his arms, helping her down his rope.
“I am Sir Arnold,” he said.
“And I am the luckiest woman alive,” Lillian replied, handing him her handkerchief.
He tucked the token in his breast pocket and helped her onto his horse. “Many have fallen here,” he noted. “It is truly a sign of good luck for us that I have survived.”
Lillian nodded, trying to ignore the hubris in his voice. She wrapped her arms around his torso as they trotted away, looking behind once to see Twig cast her a melancholy smile.
***
In true happy-ending fashion, Arnold proposed to Lillian, and they were married the morning after he “rescued” her. His engagement ring wasn’t nearly as big and shiny as a few she had come across over the years, but it was acceptably nice. The king himself came to the wedding to pat Arnold on the back and offer the couple a generous present.
Lillian was delighted to find that their house was large, with wait staff to spare. For the first time in her life, she sat in a rocking chair by the fire and read, while her husband rested nearby, strumming a lute. He also placed her in charge of household affairs, which filled her time.
“So dear,” she said one evening. She liked calling him ‘dear.’ The word felt good in her mouth. “When is your next quest?”
“Quest?” he asked, not quite paying attention. “Oh, uh, you are my greatest quest, dearest.”
She laughed kindly. “No, no, what mission has the king prepared for you? Will I accompany you on your next adventure?”
Arnold furrowed his brow and looked up from his lute. “Well, I mean, the king doesn’t expect to engage in any wars for a few more months. I might need to lead the troops off to battle when autumn arrives, but that’s not for a while, and I don’t expect you to come see that dreary business.”
Lillian put down her book. “But…what about slaying beasts? And crossing the desert for diplomatic reasons?”
Arnold smiled. “Oh, honey, don’t worry about any of that. Those tasks are for young, unmarried knights trying to earn their place.” He came to sit by her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I’m staying right here, safe and sound. We can focus on raising a family!”
“No…quests?”
“No quests.”
Lillian sat up, letting his arm drop. “You expect me to have children?”
Arnold blanched, taken aback by the question. “Isn’t that…isn’t that why we married?”
“Absolutely not!” Lillian cried, standing abruptly. Her voice was wavering. “I have so much to do and see! I can’t have children!” She stormed out of the great hall, leaving Arnold in a state of complete shock.
Up in her private quarters, Lillian paced furiously. She hadn’t signed up for any of this! No quests! No adventure! She heard low voices murmuring something outside her window and peered down.
“Newlywed women often have fits like this,” the head of the wait staff whispered below, patting Arnold on the shoulder. The two were standing in the garden, deep in conversation. “Don’t worry. Just give her some space. She’ll forget about it by morning.”
Arnold nodded and shook the man’s hand.
“I will certainly not,” Lillian whispered, running over to her desk.
She pulled out a pen and paper, scrawled a hasty note, and tied it up with ribbon. In her room, she kept a cage of lovely carrier pigeons, all white as snow. Arnold had gifted them to her on their wedding night, saying she’d never be cut off from the world ever again. It had been a lovey gesture. She hoped the birds were as fast as they were attractive.
Lillian tied her note to the pigeon’s wing and threw it out the window. The startled bird fluttered for a moment, then took off in what appeared to be the correct direction.
Exhausted and overwhelmed, Lillian collapsed into bed and slept.
***
The entire household awoke in the middle of the night to a crash on the roof. A deep-throated roar shook the house, but no flames lit up the hallway. Twig was smart enough not to light her damsel on fire.
Lillian leapt from her bed ran out into the hallway. Maids were screaming, and wait staff were fleeing from the attic.
“Dragon!” someone cried. “On the roof! Dragon!”
Arnold charged through the crowd, up the stairs toward Lillian, knowing she wouldn’t have made it that far out of her room. “Dearest,” he cried, reaching out his hand for her.
For a moment, Lillian wondered if he even knew her name. She turned her back on him and careened down the hall, up the attic ladder, and right into Twig’s left paw.
“You came!” she cried.
Twig gave a lopsided grin and picked her up, placing her between the spines on her back. “Hold on tight,” she said as she shifted her weight, snapping the mansion’s support beams.
The house crumpled beneath them, conveniently squishing Lillian’s boorish husband. Twig was about to take off, leaving the disaster for someone else to clean up, when Lillian stopped her.
"Wait! The treasury! Arnold’s gold is buried underneath the stables!”
Twig grinned and stomped over to the structure alongside the house. Grooms and horse handlers screamed and rushed away into the forest. Twig took hold of the sides of the barn and tore it up from the ground. Beneath the wreckage, glistening piles of gold and precious gems glinted up at them, bouncing the moonlight in savory beams.
“He’s rich!” Twig cried, scooping up handfuls of Arnold’s savings.
“You promised me a rich man!”
The two laughed in delight, and Twig flipped the barn’s roof upside down to create a convenient carrying tray. She scooped up gold by the handfuls, depositing it into the upturned roof. “You’re a star, Lillian!”
“And you’re a hero! Let’s get out of here!”
Twig was a strong flyer, but she dipped and struggled under the weight of their bounty. It took them all night to drag the gold back to their tower. By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, the two were dead on their feet with fatigue and joy. They settled down on the field outside the tower.
“Before we collapse,” Lillian said. “I have to tell you something.”
Twig nodded, holding her eyes open with her claws. “Anything.”
“I still don’t want to be your damsel in distress.”
Twig sighed and lay down on the grass, letting the tension evaporate from her body. “I get it. Arnold was an awful choice. I think I can find a bett—”
“No!” Lillian cried. “I also don’t want to marry a knight. Or a prince. Or anyone, really. I don’t want to be a damsel in distress, but I do want to be an adventurer.”
Twig tipped her head in curiosity.
“Listen, this is the largest amount of gold we’ve ever gotten in one job. We can keep this ball rolling!”
“I think I’m catching your drift,” Twig said, a sly smile spreading across her face.
“But it can’t be only cheating knights and rescuers,” Lillian said. “We’re going to have a lot of down time if our caches are this big. I want to travel. I want to see the world!”
Twig lifted her head, the sleep leaving her eyes. “I think that can be arranged.”
***
The next knight to show up at the tower wasn’t nearly as skilled as his predecessors. Twig could have gulped him down in one calculated bite, but she refrained, and even let him get in a good jab before collapsing with a convincing moan.
Lillian hid her snickers behind her hand as the knight scaled the wall and swept her off her feet. He looked rich—he’d brought two horses! As if the number of equine animals accompanying him would help his victory. He still had Lillian sit behind him on one horse.
As they trotted off toward their temporary happily ever after, Lillian turned around and gave Twig a thumbs up behind her back. The dragon grinned back and winked.
Woods
Together to gather two antlers we went
Together two figures, two reapers we strode
Together two dreamers, two rangers we lay
Together two dwellers on the forest we stayed
Together two lovers two sailors of time
Together two suppers on braziers we ate
Together in darkness, two fingers here crossing
Together to hunter-and-gather forever
Tea Party
“We should play tea party!”
Marigold carefully picked up her dolls one by one and placed them in her tiny red wagon, arranged by shoe size and skirt width.
“Don’t take it personally, Mrs. Pinky,” she said as she shoved her least favorite doll into the back. “At least you get to come along, unlike Mrs. Blue.” She cast a pointed frown at the dowdy doll sitting a few meters away in the grass.
The ragged doll merely watched as Marigold made her way toward the forest, a wicker basket in the crook of her arm, pulling a squeaky red wagon behind her.
Filtered through the canopy, the sunlight came in patches; Marigold tried to follow the lighter paths—she would need plenty of light for her tea party. After a few minutes, she stumbled upon an open area, with a lovely rock circle already set up for her.
“How perfect!” she said, smiling back at the dolls in her wagon. She spread her small checkered blanket in the circle’s center and set out her teacups and biscuits. There appeared to be a stone for each doll, including herself.
Marigold was careful about her seating arrangements. Ms. Sunny and Ms. Tangerine sat next to each other (since they were in love); Mrs. Scarlet sat across from Ms. Mint so that the two wouldn’t fight; and Ms. Violet took the stone with the most shade (she wasn’t picky about who sat next to her).
“Oh, no! There’s no room for you, Mrs. Pinky.” Marigold sent the doll a sad look. “If I put you on this stone, there won’t be room for me!”
Now, Marigold wasn’t usually a mischievous girl, but today she was feeling particularly mean. She looked around the circle and spotted a mud puddle just outside the ring of stones. “Looks like you’ll have to sit there, ma’am!”
She carelessly tossed Mrs. Pinky into the mud and took her place at the head of the circle.
“Don’t you ladies look lovely today! Allow me to pour the tea.”
Each doll in the circle got a cup of tea and a biscuit, but by the time she reached Pinky, all Marigold had left were the tea leaves. “I guess you can have these,” she said, wrinkling her nose and dumping the pot’s contents onto the doll.
She turned her attention back to the circle. “Oh! I nearly forgot! Saucers!”
Marigold had watched her mother host elaborate tea parties, and she’d never understood why the women needed smaller plates to hold under their tea cups. Nonetheless, she assumed it was for the best that she oblige the norm, lest she break some sort of unspoken tea party taboo.
She distributed cups around the circle, but as she passed by Mrs. Pinky, she slipped on a rock and tripped onto the saucers in her hand. The tiny plates broke, and the shattered china bore into her hands. Crying out, she pushed herself away from the ceramic mess.
Blood dribbled from the crevices of her palms. Marigold wrinkled her nose and looked around for something to soak up the blood. She couldn’t wipe her hands on the checkered blanket—her mother would punish her for that. Without a second thought, she took up Mrs. Pinky’s skirt and rubbed at her cuts.
“Sorry about the mess,” she said. “But I’m quite sure it was your fault, after all. You tripped me!” Marigold narrowed her eyes at the doll. “On purpose?”
The doll stared blankly at her. Marigold drew her eyebrows together and shook the doll, letting its head wobble on its shoulders. “Look what you’ve done!” Marigold gestured toward the shattered saucers. She pulled the dress off the doll to wipe her nose and brush dirt from her lap. Then, she took the disrobed Mrs. Pinky and examined the delicate stitching holding her limbs together.
“Why, I don’t think you’re going to last a month, anyway.” Marigold picked at the seams and tugged away the loose threads. Mrs. Pinky’s arm fell off, then a leg followed. Marigold dug her fingers into the stuffing and pulled loose some cotton, letting it flutter away in the breeze.
Feeling a bit better, and properly cleaned up, Marigold tossed the dismembered doll back into the mud and rejoined the circle.
“Ladies! So sorry about the delay. It looks like we will have to forego the saucers today.” Marigold smiled charmingly, just as she’d seen her mother smile in a crisis. “But do not trouble yourselves.”
The dolls didn’t seem to mind the lack of saucers, so Marigold picked up her biscuit and nibbled at it daintily. “So, friends, any news to share?”
“Actually, yes! One of our best friends was heartlessly murdered this morning.”
Marigold screamed as Ms. Sunny stood up and kicked over her cup of tea.
“We thought the murderer was our friend!” Ms. Tangerine took Ms. Sunny’s hand and stood next to her. “She was supposed to take care of us!”
In a voice much lower and raspier than Marigold had ever imagined, Mrs. Scarlett spoke up. “We won’t let the same thing happen to us!” The doll leapt at the girl, a shard of broken china in her hand. She raked the ceramic down Marigold’s face, cutting the girl from her temple to her lip.
Ms. Mint and Ms. Violet followed, holding shards of their own. Marigold pushed the doll’s back, but they still scratched her arms and legs. One doll tripped her from behind, then the entire group was on top of her, scratching and pulling. Marigold screamed and batted her arms, but the dolls moved too quickly. One got a clump of Marigold’s hair. Another tore away her collar.
Marigold’s eyes had just started to fog over, when a dainty hand clasped hers and yanked her backwards, out of the circle. The dolls hissed, but they didn’t seem willing to stray past the ring of stones.
“You know what she did!”
“Don’t help her! Push her back in the circle!”
Marigold whimpered and turned to her rescuer. Mrs. Blue gazed back at her with steady eyes.
“We all make mistakes,” Mrs. Blue whispered.
Tears dribbled down Marigold’s cheeks. “I didn’t know!” she wailed. “I wouldn’t have hurt any of them!”
“I know. You can’t fix it now. Come with me.”
The doll took the girl’s hand and led her away from the others trapped in the circle. Marigold didn’t think to ask why this doll wasn’t bound to the ring of stones. She was too tired, and she dragged her feet slowly.
Darkness settled in the forest, and Marigold grew weary. As she walked, she began to feel smaller. The doll in front of her looked large and comforting—Mrs. Blue would always take care of her, Marigold thought.
It wasn’t until they reached the cave that Marigold realized they weren’t going back to her house. “Where are we?”
“Sleep now,” Mrs. Blue said softly, letting Marigold fall back into a patch of moss.
...
The next morning, Marigold woke up to the squeak of a small red wagon’s wheels. She looked around and realized that there were other little girls in the cave, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.
Mrs. Blue smiled at the girls. She loomed over them, taller than ever. “We should play tea party!” she exclaimed.
One by one, she examined the girls’ shoes and skirts, and placed them in the wagon. Marigold was second to last to be picked up. Mrs. Blue frowned and placed her in the back.
“Don’t take it personally, Ms. Marigold,” she said. “At least you get to come along.”
Summer’s Day
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Nay, fellow, put your puckered lips aside
And your flirting eyes, go hide
These aren’t words to start a kiss
Nor even a good-natured hug, that is!
Look to it – A summer’s day
Is never a praise
But a nasty phrase
And it goes as such:
A summer’s day’s not fair
It makes not sweet the smell of the air
The only sweet from a summer’s day
Would be of that sweet of your hairy foot – Pray!
Back into the boot it should be put!
Have you gone a walk in the sun?
On a summer’s day, perhaps?
It burns the skin and spears the eyes
And beneath the finest clothing disguise
Under thy innocent arms I spot
A mellowing pot – smelling of rot
A summer’s day’s not temperate
The only temperate there is to count
Is a temper-a-tantrum from the oven out!
Seasoned gourmet, chef’s choice of the day–
With a doze of sunscreen melting away!
So –
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.