Issue 3

Winter 2005


 

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Lorena McCollister

Cherokee Mist

T

he pines, regal in their solitude stood before me, daring me to nestle within their flimsily well-spaced limbs—limbs spaced perfectly for small legs to climb to the top. The magnolia, resplendent in its blooms, sent its perfumed scent of life down to me, tempting me to pluck them from her boughs. Of course, the best blooms were the highest, resting between the clouds, reflecting a perfect white light balanced against piercing shades of Florida summer blue.


"Magnolia Blossoming in Swamp"
by Josh Strigle


The wind often spoke my name as she played skillfully in the branches above, daring me to chase her into the fields beyond where the forest ended and the real world began. She rushed through my auburn hair, tickling my nose, whirling the sand and leaves before my large brown eyes. I chased the whirlwinds to the edge of the woods, to the cruel barrier that I detested to cross—the line between my world and world of mortals. I stepped back waiting for her to return with a new gust from a new direction, one that did not cross into reality where my name is Amber and myth exists only in story books.

The Cherokee ways of the past told me much of why I loved the woods so much—why I toddled at their feet in awe of their majesty. My granie began to tell me things of the past, things about the ancestry that should have been so very much mine. The shaman’s daughter that turned her back on her people, yet told the story to her daughter and passed down the legend throughout the generations—mother to daughter and granddaughter. Great stories of how I came to exist, and how, when the shaman’s daughter died, the Indians came to get her only a moment after her soul found freedom. They buried her next to a beautiful stream, celebrating her in death their way even though she denied them in life.

The stories my granie told of the spirit animal that will come and protect each of the family when it is revealed to them—stories that contradict the sins that would send one straight to the fires of hell, according to Sunday preachers blasting their voices through the ears of already frightened children. Tongues of fire licking at damned souls—the worst fears revealed beyond the flickering of flames; the gnashing of teeth biting into flesh that would regroup to be bitten time and time again. Angels of hell dancing and laughing, playing screeching, blood covered harps of sinner’s flesh and bone.

When I was nine, my animal came to me while I was walking through the wood, minding my own little bare footsteps ever so carefully. Foxes are strange creatures that wander but normally run from humans such as myself simply because of man’s despicable past with the animal world. It was a mother fox with her two pups. I froze my body into concrete, not wishing to scare the mother fox or to incite her wrath. Mother animals of any kind normally will do anything to protect their young. She stopped, looking at me. I continued my statuesque pose, watching the mother fox carefully, intently, not realizing the omen. The mother fox walked up to me, while I stood in silence, balancing my breathing carefully between thin wisps of the wind that swam around the fox and me, whirling us into that other world. The world where foxes are not compelled to flee from the dastardly children of man.


"I sucked in a great gulp of it, tasting the sweetness of the wood and wind."

It seemed time stopped. The pups stood still watching their mother smelling my shoeless feet. I slowly reached my hand down as the fox tested it for evil. She found none and allowed me to scratch her head. I did so gently, still fearing that just the slightest move would cause her to run and take this moment with her only to leave me wanting more. The mist in the wood shrouded the fox and me, hanging in the air like honey sticking to a messy child’s fingers, thick and full, causing my shallow breathing to be stifled. I sucked in a great gulp of it, tasting the sweetness of the wood and wind, reveling in the air, capturing the moment in time when I was as much a part of the woods as the fox that extended, as if part of me, from my hand. I closed my eyes, wishing that time would remain so suspended above the rest of the world.

I opened them only to discover that I was returned. I saw the fox running in the distance—her two pups following carefully behind—all three only stopping for a breath to look back and let me know that I did not dream what had just occurred. I remained standing in the concrete that I had formed my body into, not wanting the moment that had just ended to be lost with the dissipating mist. It seemed the wind had whisked me back into the real world.

The moment was gone.