Bernadette and her sisters laid the platters of freshly baked pine flour scones on the fallen log at the pond’s edge. Dozens of platters heaped with the tiny scones filled the evening air with their fragrance. Tea pots and tea cups of all shapes and seasons steamed with the tea of dandelion root and bitter green leaves. The clan folk of frogs, fairies and salamanders and birds added bundled meal of grubs and worms and above them two swallows dove at the flies skipping over the still pond’s surface. Traveling Frog stepped from his wagon and let fly his throaty evening song, “Day is done, join the song. Day is done, the night is ours. Come, come, the night is ours.” Over tiny cups of dandelion tea and gulps of pine flour scones the clan folk joined in. It was a ruckus and full voice, as loud as they had ever been all season long. Bernadette struck two sharp bits of flint together at the edge of the porch steps, sending a quick orange spark to a candle of beeswax which Traveling Frog held with his front legs. The ruckus quieted, but did not completely still. Murmuring persisted, questions began. “The wagon on The Ledge, who brings it and why?” Mo`o of Crinkleroot bounced from the lip of a fallen pine trying to get Traveling Frog’s attention. The young salamander did not contain his skepticism as his orange skin and light green spots pulsed with impatience.
Traveling Frog was a regal sight that spring evening, his purple cape and violet cap glowed from the sprinkle of stardust that joins a fairy when a message of import needs to be shared. He began by answering Mo`o’s questions. Leaving nothing from his story Traveling Frog recounted for his kin and his clans people the arrival of the mortal woman called Lokea Bird. “This old woman,” Traveling Frog continued, “is more than she appears. A brown-skinned woman with hair streaked with silver and eyes that once shone like wet black river rock is The Bird. In my memory of songs and story there is a thread of a tale that connects the mortal to our own purposes here on The Great Planet. Those among us who have warmed and cooled for cycles near the Pond of Ever know how far from center the mortal purposes have wandered. I am a Lord among you, yet that entitles me no more than any of the All.” Croaks and utterance from the kin who had indeed lived through the sharp and harsh re-distribution of space and place rose from the logs surrounding the Pond. Every one gathered there that night knew how precious the space and place Joshua Tree maintained in the high mountains. “The Bird and her mate have come for a Reassembling. The Great Planet is aging far faster than she ought. Linkages between stars and Planets are being erased, too few claim too much. The Ledge has lain empty through the cycles of mis-alignments. Remnants of The Tall Ones heap at the edge, and only now have bits and bobs of these ancestors been reclaimed.”
Calliope listened intently to his friend’s song and finally asked, “Have any of you climbed the trails to see for yourself the reclamation Traveling Frog is singing about? And the wheelie wagon have you shimmied up the wheel well to view the lovin’ touch the old ones have taken to turn wood into a lovely home for the two?” “Yes, we have taken the trail and hopped onto the ancient one laid on her side to get a closer look at the wagon colored like the heart of the lions. Skinned fir that has lain in the heaps has been gathered up and form stepping pads for the old people.” It was Long Eyes who spoke up. The old frog lean and faded green from cycles of life between the Pond and the
“Dear Froggie,” it was Bernadette’s turn to add to the unfoldings. “The kin need to know the link this mortal bird brings to The Ledge. Tell us the reason she is here and the gifts. Name the gifts she bears and the possibilities they invite.” Though the Lord Frog had lived with his mate for nearly two hundred cycles, his wife’s sense of timing would always define a time table. “Right you are our own dear Bernadette. It is time for that part of the song.” Shelela of the Swallows sat on a bough above the curved roof of Frog and Bernadette’s vardo. The talk about the quality of wood crafting was interesting enough and of course necessary to the general sense of the occasion. Now though, the swallow’s heart opened broadly as her chest spread to envelope the conned as well as sung versions of Traveling Frog’s message. Traveling Frog moved slightly from his place on the porch and made room for Bernadette. “My queen, I believe this part of the song is yours.” He removed his violet cap and bowed fully to his mate. It was precisely the right thing to do.
Bernadette began. “Lokea the Bird is a spell-carrying daughter and one of the mortals known in the spheres of All as The Sensitives. In all beings The Creators hollowed space for Remembering. Wood Crafters maintain, warm and live with our gifts of grace using a body-wide space for remembering. Our times of warming are full, loving and undisturbed. Birthed as twins during the tipping of star-dust from the once rich lid of the constellation The Big Dipper, Grace spread through our coils just as the pearl-woven beads of spider weaves his web of strength and fragility we know the how and when of strength and fragility. Many of us were once much larger beings with frames and shapes of varied forms, not unlike the forms we have now.” Bernadette stopped to view with her wet glassy eyes the many kin who surrounded The Pond that night: Salamander, Frog, Osprey, Duck, Crow, and Swallow. “We were large, giant even to some views and there was space and star dust in plentitude to nourish all of Creation. But something happened a very, very long time ago in a place where Sun shines warmly all cycle through. That place called
