Another week, another story as Friday Fictioneers gather here to tell the tales of 100 words. Our host is Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple. Thanks for this week’s photo prompt, Rochelle. I love windows and kitchens. Kitchens are good places for story telling.
If the eyes are the window into the soul, windows are the eyes into the universe for her. She loves sitting here in the mornings. The world is still asleep but the darkness is lifting. First a faint grey, then a haze of soft buttery yellow. Now the orange is streaking through.
The kettle is whistling. A breeze comes in the window. Contentment sighs through her. She makes her tea and takes it over to the table. She gathers her pens and pads. She is ready. Ready and willing to tell the story. The drama, lies and all the secrets.
I sat outside and told my secrets to the moon. She listened with full attention, nodding and smiling. I talked and talked, not stopping for a breath. At long last I fell silent, empty of secrets. I realized then the moon had not said a word. Silence was her reply.
How wise she was! Had she any advice to give, would I have heeded? So burdened and distraught I was, I would not have or wanted to listen to another. I would have argued and argued. I would have fought.
Her silence allowed me room to vent, to air my secrets and dissipate the distress they brought with them. I felt spent but relieved. I looked up and smiled. The moon smiled back. I was looking at my own reflection – Sister Moon.
The day is heavy with clouds. They press down on my shoulders with their weight much like the secrets in my heart. I inhale and exhale, shrugging my shoulders, throwing off unwanted burdens. Clouds, clouds, go away. Come back another day.
I had not known they were there – the secrets, till I felt their presence knotting up my heart. They demanded to be heard, to be reckoned with. I had no choice but to bring them out into the light of my consciousness.
I’m digging in my garden. With each weed that comes out, the knot is looser, the weight coming off little by little. I can breathe easier and I can see what I would not before. Life and gardens are like that. You can’t see the truth for all the weeds. You have to weed them out, however painful it is.
In the end, hard work will pay off and you will be awed by the fruits of your labour, however small they may be. God is always paying attention.