To listen to the narration and hear how I put the episode together, check out this video:
*****
These past few weeks... no - wait... these past few days! have been crazy. The mayor... oooh - the mayor... every time I think I've finally put it past me, it comes trotting back into my headspace and I feel the need to go off and do something. Something that allows me to refocus on myself and my wellbeing, that is! For now, whatever is happening in town can stay in town.
I wonder if the town turned on the old witch and that's a reason why she left. Not that I haven't heard (or imagined) a few different reasons already. Maybe there were a bunch of factors, one of which was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, and the town was one. And by the town, I mean the mayor.
And there I go again!
One of the benefits of my working through my frustrations with the mayor is that I'm taking time to explore different areas more deeply. I've been to the Bog, the Isles, and the Grove, so I think I'll continue my explorations and go to the Loch. By which I mean the beach! A bit of a swim, some time in the sun (and more time in the shade - my lovely tan, as lovely as it is, doesn't need another burning to make it even darker!), pick a few reagents (of course!) and overall have a relaxing time away.
Hopefully this relaxation time won't involve my being chased by hungry, flying lizards!
I do hope I can finally get the whole mayor thing out of my head, out of my body, out of my space. Until then, I'm going to focus on me-time.
I put a few things together, let the spirit house know I was headed out, then popped onto my broom and flew off.
What can I say about Vapour Trail now that she's been "enhanced" by Pop? She feels even more nimble than before, more able to dance in the air, and, of course, the constant glow emanating from the broom - it was the epitome of the phrase, "tripping the light fantastic".
I suppose I could've flown straight to Meltwater Loch using the existing path. I suppose I didn't need to slalom around trees and sometimes through foliage. And I suppose I didn't need to experiment a little with standing on the bristles and working the broom like a surfboard, laughing at the ridiculousness of it.
I didn't need to. But I wanted to and I loved every minute! But I did want to go to the beach, so I did get there (eventually) and set up a spot in the dappled sun (but just steps from the water).
Note to self - set up a hammock! But that's something for a different day.
The day was perfect for laying in the warm sun, feeling the gentle breeze with a hint of salt, relaxing. No need to think about patients, no call to consider what I must do, and simply allow the day to pass without any worries, bothers, or distractions. *sigh* What a lovely feeling.
After a while, I decided to take a dip. It was... how should I put it?... teeth-chatteringly cold! Yes - refreshing, in much the same way that... actually, I don't know in what other way the refreshingness of a cold dip into a deep loch can be replicated! Brrr!!!
But it's also kind of addictive in its way. After getting out and warming up for a bit, I was ready for another round of plunging into the ice blue water again.
As I was getting in and out repeatedly, I figured I'd collect a few things. Nothing stressful or difficult to find - just things that required minimal effort to get.
Smooth Croak, for example. I'd collected the mucous from the colourful frogs before. This time I decided to offer one of them a new home. And just like that, one of them hopped towards Vapour Trail. I like simple!
And another simple request was made - this time for snails, producers of Slime Shell, to come live with me. A few started their slow but steady way towards the broom.
Speaking of simple, I collected more Deep Reed. Last time there were Wigfish aplenty but this time there were no vain swimmers around.
In fact, I ended up with only two new things. The first was something called Mermaid's Gift. Why a toxic algae has "gift" in the name baffles me. And the fact that it's something primarily used to cure Male Pattern Baldness leaves, oh, I don't know, half the population of the world only seeing it as something not to put into a seafood stew!
That... it just irks me. A boy dies years ago and suddenly the Herbology School isn't letting students experience real-life experiences. Who knows how many girls disappeared or even died! But something happens to one boy (granted it was the head family's son) and everything has to change. Really!
And then that whole thing with the mayor! He makes some sort of accusation, or perhaps not even, and all of a sudden my reputation is being examined and judged.
It's so frustrating!
But I know I'm not the only one who feels this way. Which brings me to the second new thing I found - a bottle. A sealed bottle. An old, sealed bottle. With, on my first examination of it, a letter inside. A message in a bottle. Rather than open it on the beach, I decided to bring it back with me to the cottage.
I'm so glad I waited to open it!
With all these things found and collected (and the snails finally finishing their huge 100 metre trek to the broom - I couldn't help them - they have pride, you know), I decided to pack up and head back.
Impatiently, I made my way back using the fastest route I could think of, got everything (and everyone) situated, made a quick meal, then, as it cooled, I opened the bottle.
The reason I was so happy to have waited until I was home is because the bottle was packed with paper. Packed! It took a bit of coaxing to get the papers to come out without tearing.
I began eating and reading. And reading. And reading some more. The amount of ink alone was enough to make the letter heavy, let alone the quality paper. And the bottle itself - it looked like one of those stained glass windows they use in posh mansions and houses of worship. I didn't think they were seaworthy! (Turns out they usually aren't - but this bottle, made to emulate those windows, was).
I won't bother trying to summarize everything here, but do know there was a lot said about the sender of the letter, who signed it "Lady Copeland". She talked about the sting of winter winds, the wish to see Stew and Andy (friends of hers. Minstrels I believe) in the coming months (having seen them on several of the preceding summers), and all sorts of domestic things happening in and around Imperial City.
Imperial City?!? While I'd only become recently aware of such a place, this letter was from someone living there!
But there were also tales of difficulties. The police, apparently, were tasked not only with fighting crime but with controlling its citizens' behaviours as well. In particular, or at least for Lady Copeland, was the fact that while she desired to write, to be a poet or an author, to take her thoughts on the Rights of All (regardless of gender, race, colour, etc.) to the public, she couldn't. Not only was she prevented from publishing, she wasn't allowed to share her thoughts with anyone.
Being a lady of means meant that she did have access to things, mostly stored away in forgotten rooms inside her mansion. Ink and paper were easy - she could write to friends no problem. It was the bottle that was the big find for her because it had a magic on it that would allow it to act like a carrier pigeon (of sorts) - once it had found an endpoint, it could travel the waters between on its own.
Aside from the already mentioned day-to-day goings-on, and the brief thesis (as she described it, anyway. I didn't think it short!), she also included a poem because she hoped to find, not just someone interested in Equality, but also knowledgeable in literature. This is what she wrote:
Perambulating like doxie muskrats
Pennant-filled joyous colours
Accusatory commingling rough with sweet
Flabbergasted pawns enraged
Dissecting rainbows, vainglorious
of crinoline and silk
and asked for "honest feedback".
I... ah... well... there are a lot of big words with lots of meaning in them but put together like that... ummm... I have no idea what it means! And maybe that's the point? I think I'm going to have to give the return letter a bit of a think. Maybe send Lady Copeland a sample of my poetry? But would someone like her enjoy what I write? I... I think I'll sleep on it!
*****
I slept on it. I can't say I found any clarity overnight, but maybe with pencil in hand and blank paper in front of me, I'll write something witty, or... *sigh* I think I'll just write what comes to mind.
With pencil hovering over paper but not knowing how to begin, I...
What's all the racket? Why is everyone croaking? (or at least - why is everyone who naturally croaks croaking?)
Putting down my pencil (and secretly relieved at not staring at the blank page), I went outside to see what was up. I headed for Fen's place. MouseEye ended up on my shoulder halfway there. "The snails found something."
The snails? Ok...
Minutes later, I found out what was all the fuss. There was a letter, addressed to the old witch, unopened. How it had ended up being mostly buried in bracken I'll never know, but what is certain is that the old witch never opened it.
I contemplated just leaving it, figuring it was not my business. But then I reasoned that if it affected the cottage or grounds, I should know. (And, to be honest, reading the letter meant not having to write mine!)
I thanked everyone for their diligence, then brought the letter back to the cottage. What was it that the letter said?
Turns out the old witch, when she was planning her journey to Imperial City, had actually had a bit of a schedule and had made lodging arrangements. This letter was in response to her request for a year's lease on a cottage outside of the city - which, given that she had her pet cow with her, made sense. However, in the reply, it said that while no cottages were presently available, they did have a lovely apartment on the third floor of a building that overlooks a market square. It also stated that unless she replied back within two weeks, that would be her reserved lodgings.
The only words I could think were "cow pie, oh my". And as I laughed and thought about all the difficulties of having a cow climb three flights of stairs, not to mention the feeding and bathroom needs of Humphrey, I started to hear a poem. So I wrote it down:
Some time ago, a letter was sent
To confirm a room and appropriate rent
But missed within the conversation
A cow is part of the whole equation
Oh to be a fly on the wall
When a third floor room becomes a stall
The noise, the smell, the mess, oh my
With hay and hooves and, of course, cow pies
And then I set to writing my response. I introduced myself and gave some basic details. I told her that my skill with poetry wasn't at her level at all, but that the work sounded grand when spoken aloud. And that I hoped she'd enjoy something of mine.
I signed it, sealed it inside the gorgeous bottle, flew to the Loch, and set the bottle in the water near to where I'd found it. I watched as it orientated itself, began moving through the water (and leaving naught but the slightest wake), then dropped out of sight when it dove down into the depths.
I don't know how long it'll take for the bottle to make it's journey, or if the Lady will find it when it returns. I do hope she has a bit of a laugh when she reads my poem.
I find it interesting that I'm now corresponding with two people, both of whom I'll probably never meet, both of whom talk about being alone, or at least feeling alone. It's like we're castaways. Maybe not literally shipwrecked on a deserted island, but figuratively.
The lovely thing is, I think, we know our value to the world. And maybe, just maybe, we can feel less alone in our being alone.
