centre of the universe - the dreaming: Sussuration

07/15/2008: "Sussuration" "I have a balm," he whispered, beckoning her to come closer, "which will soothe the skin from any hardship. I have soup spoons that stir of their own volition."

Although her feet desperately wanted to move, and there was a longing in her breast to see some of the wares in his wagon, she was rooted to the spot beside the pump. She remembered him leaping around on the back of his wagon, with the robes drawn behind to look like a curtain. She heard the timbre of his voice, rising and falling, rolling like the even waves as the tide rushes in. The folks around her, closing in on the little stage...and him looking directly in her eyes as he promised his medicine would cure boils, make the hair grow, and repair ingrown toenails.

"Of course...you need none of those things. I see that now. Your skin is perfect; your soup, the same, I'm sure."

"My husband..." she said again, not noticing the waver in her voice.

"Ah. Something for the ...man... of the house, then?" He winked, like the vast drawing of cloud across the sun. "You know I have something...perhaps...yes..." he rummaged through boxes and piles of wares, drawing out a small leather pouch. "Dream tea," he said, holding the bag in the palm of his hand. "It brings easy slumber and some say...makes your very dreams come true."

She thought of the sea, of her dreams of being back on the shore. Of riding through green fields, not brown...with Marek by her side, sowing wheat and oats for the cattle they could raise near the ocean. There were plenty who had sheep, even; they could have the farm back home, away from the dry, burning heat. She wouldn't have to listen to the cacophony of crickets at night, nor chase them from her kitchen each morning. Nor watch the soil in her garden shrivel and crack for want of rain.

Then she was holding out her hand, and him still at the wagon and her still at the pump, the tiny bag was in her hand. "As for payment," he was saying, although his scratchy voice sounded very far away, "I'll thank you for the water for my team and a loaf of bread for the road." Which he suddenly had in his hand, as he flipped down the buffalo hide from the top of his wagon. "And a fond farewell to you, my Lady. Don't mention my visit; I fear he would misunderstand."

"Anemophily" "I've got a little list (still)"

distractions