Thursday, April 13, 2006

Fado-a faerie tale blog of the California coast part 3

This is a work of fiction inspired by half true places, half true people, but of course all true faeries.

Right.. So anyway, about a month later, the rain hadn’t let up yet and everything was turning really green, the way it does in springtime in California. Wild Flowers were coloring the hillside, but it was way too muddy to go and pick them, even for me. I had a show at the Art City Gallery, full of twisted driftwood, colored rocks, odd findings and lots of bird bones. Skulls mostly, although I had put in some crow feathers too. It took about three days to install the show and do the lighting. The rain was pelting down the whole time. The reception at the opening went pretty well though, despite the weather. People always gather for free food. During the reception, that strange old lady kept on hovering outside the gallery in the rain. She was poking around at the scraps of half eaten crackers and brie left on a paper plate abandoned by someone who must have gone outside in the storm for a smoke and decided it was too much of a drag. Every now and then, she’d poke her head in the door, her sharp eyes studying the scene. But she never came in. I guess she went home to wherever she lived, because after an hour, I didn’t see her again. At home, later that night, the ocean winds batters the house and shook the windows. I had dreams of giant wings beating in the black sky above the house.
The next morning I woke to find the storm had blown it’s self out and left rare sunlight in its wake. I also found that the power was out. Now, a lot of long time residents of the coast are used to loosing power from time to time and have backup generators in case of just such a need. But I, having only recently moved in, had yet to get one.
I left my kitchen and useless electric stove behind and decided to walk to my favorite coffee house for breakfast. The sun shone gloriously bright on the vivid colors, washed clean by the ample rain. After being shut indoors for to much of the season, it was good to stretch my legs. The coffee shop near the top of the hill is in a refurbished blue Victorian. Its front half is a health deli, and the coffee bar is in the back. This morning I opted to have my tea and bagel on the outside deck and drink in the sunlight. A couple of friends stopped by and we talked about my new exhibit. I asked if anyone knew who the old lady was, but they hadn’t noticed her. After breakfast I got a refill of tea, and went to open the gallery. It’s a small town, you can walk to anywhere. I was going to art sit as the gallery docent that morning. The place was as cold as a tomb, what with the power out. But I sat by the sunny front windows and made the best of it.
Sometime towards noon, she came in, the stones on her necklace rattling. With a twisted smile, she examined the pieces, on by one. She seemed drawn especially towards one I titled “goddess of the beach” that had a large driftwood log, dried seaweed, and shells surrounding a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth that I had found washed up on the shore.
“ This one…” she said, nodding “ah, good on you for that. But she wants for something.” And she took of her necklace and placed it around the feet of the statue. “There.” Then she turned to leave.
“Who are you?” I asked.
She turned her yellow eyes to me. “Morgan.” She replied with the twisted smile, and left.



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