Mothan

"Yes, the tradition for picking sacred plants was "gun sireadh, gun iarraidh," without searching, without seeking.  In other words, it needs to choose you!"

-The Apple Gardener

My children are mostly grown into themselves now, no longer near-by and confident on their paths they inspire me to be child-like. I feel more sure they are being who they were meant to be when I read their notes and electronic mail that say, "Good for you," upon receipt of my latest adventures. The wounds of loss have healed into scars and bumps that make the contours of the flesh interesting ground; the breakage of bones slowing me down for times, though even bone heals ... eventually.

"I wonder what they will say when they learn of my pregnancy?" The words spill from my lips and out into the damp fog who is eager to carry news. Across the forest and in the orchard just below my friend is bent over a hole. The fog makes it difficult to make out her intent. Too cold for transplanting. Ridding the old stump perhaps. By the time I make my way to her she is ready with an answer and I see she has help lifting the rotted stump too heavy to be moved alone. 

"I knew you were in the woods," she said without lifting her hands from the shovel she used to leverage a large chunk of apple root.  The sound of the harp was muffled but very much present. Too damp to be with The Apple Gardener I knew that for sure. But up the gentle climb to the cottage through the window overlooking the deep porch, the curve of wood and strings were visible.

"The fog is such a gossip!" I said this with mild malignancy. This was not my favorite guise for weather, and The Apple Gardener knew my feelings. One day, all right it passes. One week and I have been know to call weather nasty names. Her snickering was soft but not soft so I could not hear her. 

"Do you really care what your children think about being pregnant with the child of a bird?" she asked. The question came accompanied by a heightened strand of harp song. I didn't answer right away, choosing instead to watch how she moved with the notes to pivot and swivel root and shovel. Watching the dance with admiration and silence the question waited.

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