Watcher by day

My wandering mind...left to it's own devices..roaming over the restless grasses that tickle the sky. I spied my Seeker, and wondered what if....

What if I was being watched. I couldn't see how, given the openness that surrounded me. Logic and reason said no it wasn't possible. But those traits were not keeping me company at this time. Instead, I was feeling the tickle and trail of fingertips along my spine. An edgy warmth lay like a shawl around my arms. I stared off into the distance, both blurred and sharp in focus. Perhaps hunger for a change swept me up in both hope and fantasy. My view had something pleasant within it, of course. For to think of terrible dangers would just take me over the edge. Those things creep in during the darkness, when the shadows play with my mind and mess with my vision. Here, in the daylight, I could spin a story of happy intrigue.

The watcher, my watcher, lingered on the edges just out of my grasp to spy him. I envisioned it was curiosity that first drew him, and most likely kept him. He was the color of the plains, the color of the wind and the sky, the color of everything. From where he rested, where he moved, each day he found more to see. This made me uncomfortable at first, but it was gradual, slow, like the gentle growth of a flower or the coming of a season. It gave me time to adjust a little before the next time. I felt no harm or threat, only my own trepidation and uncertainty. As the day wore on, and I performed a task - stirred up the fire, or cleaned the mud from the bottom of my boots, I began to feel very personal to him. I was, in a way, his little secret. His possession. I found myself wanting to appeal, to interest. And I tried to communicate.

It was Vega who spoke to me now and again of speaking through the wind. I can not say I have ever been able to. This does not mean I do not believe in it, but I just have not been able to succeed at it. I wish I could. I would be speaking to Yama, to Uncle Dray, to Vega himself, requesting help. I would be pleading with whoever might catch my voice trembling in the air, to find me.

Would be turned into ...doing. And I began in earnest to make the attempt.