Tell me whimsical tales of sad princesses and handsome princes. Tell me about the time you convinced the beast to let your hear
t keep beating. Tell me about that one stormy night when you heard a child prayers being carried on the breath of the wind. Speak softly, I’m drifting to a land so far away that your voice is my only comfort. Only a comfort that let me lay my eyes closed and wait for morning. Let me hear you clear your throat before you shut the book and place it beneath my pillow.
Written by Alecia Writes, Photo by Alecia Writes
Alecia Writes 
One summer evening, a lonely mother pushed a stroller along a sidewalk overlooking the river in a ciy of bridges. The little boy did not have much of an interest in the outdoors, but his father worked outdoors many miles away. There was a certain magic in the air as they passed a flowering crabapple tree, and then the linden tree with its intoxicating fragrance. The child squawked and the woman walked, exclaiming over this and that. They returned to the tidy yard behind the house that Daddy had bought for them. The woman noticed that a dandelion fuzz was hovering over the garden. It rose and fell in the breeze, hovering over a tomato plant like a guardian angel that would not go away. Up and down went the piece of fluff, and it seemed that the Earth was breathing.
(a story from my life)
Julie
Beautiful story, I love how it reads.
Thank you, Alecia. It was wonderful to be invited to tell soft tales. The phrase about clearing one’s throat and the image of the pillow are tenderly moving.