Blessing of the Garden Gate

My offering for Master Class Monday at EatSleepWrite
The prompt I chose was nonpotable blessings




Twas quiet here, not long ago.  Shadow prevailed and gave cover to ghosts of the despair.  Wraiths of grief wrapped chilled fingers of loneliness around the heart of one left behind.  Neglect squeezed and choked life into submission.

Then she arrived. Her dreams and memories carried in boxes of cluttered life. The man by her side not so sure of this final destination, pulled along by her need to come home.

Life and color slowly return, the man working hard to reclaim a space left to weedy decay. She spends her time splashing color on faded walls. Together they create home.

Warm, golden light now shines from windows once shuttered in despair. The laughter within spills haphazardly into flowerbeds beneath the screened opening as one of the blood resides within again.

The bright Fae of the night climb thorny stems to peek inside.  Wings shimmering with moon glow from a cloudless sky, they raise excited brows and whisper of better times. They've marked the return of Rose and Tulip, old bearded Iris.  They hail the arrival of Lily and Heather.
  
Malevolent ivy retreats in frustration, pushed out by carefully nurtured roots. It slumbers uneasily beneath the color splashed gardens, waiting for the chance to regain a foothold.

Barefoot, careful of the garden sprites, the woman contentedly surveys the work of her spouse. Multiple beds entice butterflies and honey bees. Songbirds settle into the regained peace. 

A vegetable garden flourishes where none have farmed for decades. Fruit trees replace the ones lost through age and neglect. Wild berries welcome eager hands that have grown since picking and stuffing them into giggling faces long ago.

Her gaze follows the spreading limbs of the oak that shaded her childhood. Beneath it an overgrown lilac was a green fortress for herself and her siblings. Trimmed and tidied it still provides a quiet space within to think and to dream. 

On sunny days her man sees the figure of a woman regarding his work. Her grandmother she says. The one who left behind bits of garden hidden amongst the weeds. He raises his brow, but accepts and hopes his efforts are acceptable.

From the corner of her eye she catches glimpses of the Fae. They duck under the ferns and dance around the lilies. Playing chase with the squirrels and flitting about the feeder with hummingbirds. She tells no one she sees them, just smiles to herself.

Flowers follow their season, bloom then fade, replaced by the next, finally relinquishing to colder months. The vegetable garden ripens and gives its bounty to enhance the table through winter. Always some seed or fruit is left behind for wildlife. And Fae.

Snow fall blankets the ground, insulating roots and bulbs. A protective cover of bright white sheltering the promise of spring to come. 

She looks for the tracks in the snow. Rabbit, squirrel, and sometimes prints unfamiliar. Frosty pictures are left on window panes, icy flowers, a reminder that spring is nearby.

With yarn in her lap she waits out the cold. Watching for the early signs, a blush in the undergrowth, tiny buds peeking from the trees. Daffodils pushing through the frost, not waiting for a designated date. 

Soon, the time for faery dances and color will draw her barefoot through the garden gate and all the blessings it holds.

Offering

 Trifecta Challenge-Week 59
This week's word is:
INTENTION (noun)

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.

• You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.

• The word itself needs to be included in your response.

• You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. 

1: a determination to act in a certain way : resolve
2: import, significance
3a : what one intends to do or bring about
  b : the object for which a prayer, mass, or pious act is offered

I chose definition 3b

Marta carried her offerings to the freshly dug hole. She assured herself once more that the dimensions were correct. When she was satisfied, she set the objects on either side of the potted berry shrub that had been entrusted to her. A pail of clear spring water to the left. To the right, a basket of soil judiciously mixed with manure. She took a small spade from the ceremonial belt she wore and laid it in front of the pot.

When all was perfectly arranged, she knelt breathlessly before her intention. Her voice barely audible to herself as she began the words of prayer.

“Mother, Earth, embrace and nourish these roots that they spread and multiply.

Father, Sun, warm these limbs that the sap of life runs strong.

Sister, Rain, give drink to these buds that they become fruits.

Brother, Wind, be kind to this being that it stand straight and not break.”

With gentle hands, she removed the shrub from its pot, spreading the compacted roots so they could better reach into their Mother’s care. She lowered the plant into the hole, holding it steady with one hand, she used the spade to carefully fill the spaces around the roots with the fertilized soil. After the hole had been filled, and the earth firmly pressed around the base of the shrub, she poured the water from the pail around it.  She mouthed one last prayer for the health and survival of the plant.

She returned the spade to her belt, gathered the empty vessels, her task complete.  With one backward glance at the newly planted shrub, and the hundred others just like it.  She  faced forward again and joined the other sisters to began the long trek back to the temple.

Time Gate

One of my writerly friends posted a picture of arbor, overgrown with vines.  This is the story that happened....

It was nearly dawn as Margy walked alone down the sidewalk. The path was uneven and empty but for the litter of earlier travelers. Her eyes watched her feet, but without seeing them. Her mind a confusing jumble of half formed thoughts and drug hazed images.

After too many losses too young, the embrace of narcotics became a siren call to her tired heart.

The figure behind her watched her stumble along. Her posture and inattention labeled her a target. The shuffling gait shouted to him, “None will miss this one. No one cares.”

Still, he was cautious, looking around for prospective witnesses. That caution was shattered by the careless kicking of a discarded soda can.

Through veil of drugs, Margy became aware of her stalker. Her body fought the drugged indifference of her mind as it struggled for self preservation.

Her feet quickened their unsteady pace, her eyes began to look for escape. They lit upon an overgrown garden in a long neglected urban park.

The arbor entrance was drenched in vines. The space beyond, a wilderness of wildflowers and high grass. In the slowly blossoming light, she could only hope for the cover of brush. She ducked through the arbor, her stalker just footsteps behind.

He stopped, confounded by her disappearance. The old lot was a tumble of weeds and trash cans. There was nowhere she could have have gone. No place to hide. Yet, gone she was.

Margy’s eyes adjusted to the brightening sky. The park was much larger than it had seemed from the street.

She cocked her head to listen, children, she could hear children laughing. As she ventured farther, she could see a playground.

A squeal of delight reached her. “Margy! Margy, over here! We’re so glad you made it!”

A smile flowed across her face, the first in years. As she started forward, she glanced at her feet. The pink lights of her favorite pony festooned sneakers flashed brightly with every step.