Thyme

These days I speak to my hands often in the night and during the day I day dream about how my life will be like with 4.

Perhaps I will have more time. I stop by the local market on my way home; I need  thyme for my soup. The store is out, it will not be in until next week… I have no time to wait for thyme… my soup cannot wait.

Mix one part russian, one part ukrainian, one part mother’s roots, some squash… to cast away doubt, sautee onions to keep the evil at bay and some yams for a little wam bam.

I thought I had done a good job at facing my demons but the last 2 days I have been reacquainted with walking skeletons… I face them head on, I learned from this. “Shoo-fly don’t bother me” – I sing to myself.

My vessel is wearisome these days and my extra pair will help keep me focused on the task at hand.

The Feast Day is coming and I try to fit in the preparations as best I can.  I start to pull in some nets.

“The Judge” has been captured – as predicted – Tuesday.  This is a game changer, not just for me but also for John Doe, it is likely soon he will be named and regain the ranks as my brother.

I encounter a window of opportunity today and I seized it. In doing so, four jump on board. No one hurts my Gigi. I pushed back and hard at the sharks … enough is enough.

I continue to turn my soup, I have some help today. The eldest angel shows signs of eagerness, still not quite ready for the climb; his chamber is almost ready.

I remember my grandfather, soup was his thing. He preferred to eat from the same bowl everyday. He had no teeth so soup it was. I feel his steady hand as I turn and turn the soup and I hear him saying to me, “Мука не приземлитися на киплячий котел”.  I shall keep the pot on.

The soup is done, the angels tire. I rest with them, I am awakened from my deep sleep… an angel has fallen. It is not the young ones. I feel it in my heart.

I suspect this has to do with the trouble that has been brewing on the mothership, I have tried to set the path straight but it is off course. It is clear, I cannot cast my net from this far, soon the fixer will travel to adjust the network connection.

Alas, I hear from Sault. Thankfully I hear that that book has been picked up and the student is ready. For when the student is ready the teacher appears.

I miss my wings. My daemon tried to pull at them today.

Sault misses her wings too.

The ancients used thyme for courage, this time we are both ready to take the leap.