Wild OnionA Story by Ether Words"Look" he said, placing the smooth quartz stone in her palm, "what do you see when you look at it?" She takes a moment before turning it over in her hand, searching the corners of her mind for something insightful and utterly profound. "You don't have to think so hard," he says, "just tell me the first thing that pops into your head." The stone, actually more pebble than stone, was smooth and almost perfectly oval on one side and the surface was dull…reminiscent of satin while the other side looked like it had been shattered. It was multi-faceted with jags that were both clear and shiny. She turns it slowly in her hands and holding the shiny side up, says "a dirty diamond." And then flipping it around, "worn satin." A smile, "No, just look." She pauses, her first impression still nagging. Then clearing her throat, she begins. "As a kid I would find wild onions growing by the clothes line and I would dig them up carefully with my mom's hand shovel. They tasted like the earth, sweet and almost sage-y and she would put them into the slow cooker with the meat or use them as a garnish for her roast. This is an immortal wild onion bulb." "That's it, you see perfectly." © 2008 Ether Words |
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Added on March 28, 2008 AuthorEther WordsRiverton, WYAbout"Listen to the presences inside poems. Let them take you where they will. Follow those private hints, and never leave the premises." - Rumi more..Writing
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