I haven’t decided if I am participating in PBP this year (although it really gave me a good jumpstart), I have had so much goings on.. maybe sporadically. So there will be fewer posts, but that is okay (or okay with me anyway).. and it’s been really quiet this week (although I did get to see William Shatner in the flesh.. que nerdy girl quivering). So here I share with you one tiny little silly scribble I made one morning while having coffees and pondering the loss of my shells (which disappear quite frequently, still.. I imagine great cities are being built with them)..
Just before twilight, she sneaks quietly to the glass door to peer out into the garden.. it’s been many seasons now that she has been having to replace the shells. It’s a good thing her friend lives at the coast so she can restock on visit. Half of her elemental call belongs to the water. She put those shells on there just for that reason.. yet at every turn of the wheel some go missing.
In her mind she imagines tiny little things, carrying them off to assemble itty bitty societies.. great castles of pearlescent abalone.. ceriths forming the tower points. Tiny shipping villages with cockle shell boats loaded with thyme wrapped packages of somethings shiny to barter for.. tiny conchs used to call the attention of passing wee folks, of course. All of this, floating around in her head as she wonders..
Where do they go? They’re not lying fallen. Quite frankly, the squirrels seem more enthralled with the birdseed than the seashells. She doesn’t think she’s ever even seen a squirrel on the table. She is sure the fae are knicking them.. so she lies in wait during the quiet time to see where they carry them off to..