“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.”

― Joan Didion

Stimulus

The light was blinding, startling in its intensity. Whispering, cajoling, pleading, singing....an old friend tickling along my arm while filling me with ideas....."come play with me".  Come see the newborn green and the everything blue. Come...come....
it was conjecture made promise... warmth and heat and days of light and plenty ahead. I soaked it in with such eagerness that everything else took a back seat to the simple joy of being.

I ran.

Tender lush grass skirted my ankles, fondling, teasing as I sprinted, leaving dew drops of Lar Tarvis warmth on my legs. Rich earthy soil clung to my feet. I was breathless...and not only from exertion.

Iris leaned provocatively against the makeshift barrier surrounding the kaiila pen, watching me with a quiet study. Wind tossled hair competed with the brightness of the day and compelled her to shade her face with the cup of long slender fingers.

"Where have you been?" was her opening remark.

Laughing, I spun in circles, arms trailing like light licked ripples in a silent watering hole disturbed by a solitary plunk of pebble. "Running! Isn't it magnificent?" breathing deeply of the air, I gave Iris no doubt that I spoke of the warming light that had snuck into every shadow's hiding place and left it shining and illuminated. I caught a smiling face out of the corner of my eye and the day gained shared delight.

Life was good.

On such a glorious day, mundane tasks seemed far too ordinary to occupy us and we fished for something special to occupy our time. I had a basket just waiting for such a day, though I only realized it right at that moment. It was filled with left overs and unwantables after a purging session by Mistress Sev. All manner of goodies had been tossed out in those days of cleaning and rearranging. Most had found their way into good homes, new uses or the leftovers basket. I held the latter up for Iris's inspection.

"What's all this?" Iris asked.

"Inspiration", was my reply. I thought it sounded good, and it was my grandiose plan.....to figure out what to do with all the miscellanea peaking out from the braided reeds. The very first thing I did was rescue several small trimmings of white leather...too small for much use, though I did have something in mind for later. For now - I scrunched and tucked them into my hair, pale against dark, then paraded for Iris.

"Bosk decorations!" said Iris.
I countered with "snow flakes."
"You look like ...mm...the Ubars daughter. Stuck behind the walls of her dweller garden, forever consigned to a life of being hidden."

And the stories began...