The Chatty Tree

The girls are are needy right now. If I sit in the front room at all, there's quickly one on my lap and one beside me, possibly to comfort a sad human but my sense is that they need comfort too. Tomorrow friend turns up for adventures at the Fringe. It will be good for us though the cats, who prefer no change in any way, will find it stressful. Having said that, they know our friend. I know it's early but we must shift ourselves, attend to body and mind, try to make room for something other than grief. Hard though.

The vets bills have been paid, likewise the cremation and container, everything that needed to be done is complete. A few weeks back before any of this happened, R had made an appointment with a solicitor to discuss our wills. The questionnaire is somewhat sobering and we had to curtail the meeting because - well, it's all closing in a bit. We need more time.

We didn't scatter Surya's ashes and we won't scatter Ralik's. I would sooner be buried in a high place near the sea if possible and have a nice tall tree planted on top to help us all breathe. R said he would like his ashes scattered at the same point where my tree stands. Then would be the time to scatter the ashes of our dear pets. We will all be together and apart at the same time. I like the poetry in that.

And you, if you ever need to talk or read a book or just sit, you'll be welcome to visit. All trees know when to be quiet but I would expect mine to be quite a chatty tree.

The Devil and the Islanders

Once, three champions of three different islands took it upon themselves to compete in subduing the devil. The first came from an island of warriors so fierce that none had ever defeated them. Their champion was the mightiest of their kind, and he broke the devil into a million pieces with ease, smiling until he saw that where there had been one big devil now there were millions of little ones crawling the earth in malignity.

The second came from a holy island where the churches and temples inspired all to piety, and devotion was so great that blessings fell like rain and wondrous miracles happened every day. From among these came the most sacred of priests who patiently preached to each of the millions of small devils. These fled from the divine thunder only to find each other, and formed once again into the great single enemy of mankind. The warrior and preacher looked at each other, wondering what to do.

The third was no real champion at all, but had been put forward by her fellow islanders because no one else would volunteer. She approached the devil, whose eternal angry mood was now worse after the battles and sermons, and promised that she had no desire to conquer, but wished only to offer him an exquisite pleasure he had never experienced. Sleep was her gift, purest sleep with a promise of no trap,no chains,and no dreams.

The devil could recognise all falsehood instantly so knew she was speaking true. In the millennia past neither he nor any of his kind, celestial or infernal, had experienced slumber and it occurred to him that, yes, he was extremely tired, so he agreed and drank the potion she made. Only the woman marked where he lay and to this day none know if it was beneath a mountain or under the sea. But the sleep was everything she promised and throughout it, all the horrors he had committed and encouraged others to commit fell away, the burning of his skin ceased, and he rested at last. He slept for so long that no-one remembered how much he had hated and been hated. By the time he awoke, Men had forgotten him completely. No more was he used as a mask for what they wanted to do. He was free and so were they.

Refreshed, he went out into a new morning of the world, and harmed neither himself nor any other forever after.