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Sometimes I float. I ascend up into the midnight sky and hang there. No one sees. Dark clothes hide everything. And I think as the wind takes me where she will. I turn away from Earth, facing the infinite. Many elferinas and elferinos can't do that. Too unnerving. Too disorienting. Nothing but blackness and the stars.... sensory deprivation for night-folk. Then I hear a plane and it's over. I remember a simple world... a place without the wonders mortals fabricate today. Night was an altogether different place. The darkness was complete. Some went out with lanterns, but others did not. There's nothing like that today, at least in the rich world.
Celeste.... They call me Celeste..... 'heavenly'...'divine'... You've seen me in the background, while others, such as Marianne, or Roland claim the stage. I have no illusions. I just survive. My nativity, both mortal and immortal was not unique... for night-folk, I mean. Nothing so dramatic as Marianne. No, not like that. Do you know, her story, if I understand this correctly, comprises one of the most visited parts of this record? ... Marianne In Britches by Billy Kravitz... They 'google' it. They scroll back and forth, til they see the whole thing. Someone with the right bed-friends in California wants to make a film of it. She says she doesn't care, Marianne, I mean but I see how she flips her hair and angles her jaw toward the glass. She is vain. So was Jonathon. Maybe that's not a bad thing. Perhaps I'm too quiet?
We leave the house at dusk and come back with first light. We avoid Sarah... not because we're cold, or uncaring, but because we're guilty and don't know what to say. Peter was a special thing to us.... the first new elferino upon these shores in more than two hundred and fifty years. So we took to him... beguiled by an evil 'Peter Pan.' And look what happened.
It's so quiet now. I want to talk with Sarah. I do. But I don't know what to say. Did you think immortality brings wisdom? I suppose it has the potential for that. But mostly it just brings time.
I feel the air. I feel the warmth. I feel the soil. La Prima Vera begins... the Season of First Faith... all things new... for that's what the words really mean. Well, we have no choice. We must all be new things too. I browsed through an all-night food market two hours ago. Sometimes I buy things if I like the way they smell, or the way they look, or the color. They had apples, 'Jonathon' apples.... small and sweet, tangy too. I could tell. So I bought some. Most I gave to a man selling papers and magazines from a little booth near a hotel. They used to have a lot of them, but there's still a few. At first he didn't want them. He said - Ain't no razor blade shoved inside, is there?... I said - No. No razor blades. .... He knew I wasn't lying.... Then he took one from the white, plastic bag and rinsed it with a squirt from his water bottle. Cut it in half with a pen knife too. I suppose that was to make sure. I hope the pen knife was clean. I watched, as he crunched into it. Nothing sounds like a fresh, crisp apple. Even night-folk... especially night-folk, appreciate that. He thanked me with a mouth full of sweet-tart fruit, as I left.
Later, back at the townhouse, I put two in the refrigerator. One for Edith and one for Billy. The third one, the last one, I butchered for the seeds. Then I found a little, clay pot out back in the kitchen garden (actually a glorified patio) put some dirt in from one of the flower beds, poked in two seeds and moistened it in the sink. A Jonathon apple tree. I will grow one. Months from now, when it gets cold again, I'll take the pot inside. Maybe after two, or three years I'll plant it in the ground. Hopefully it won't get too big. Tomorrow night I'll ask Billy to look it up. I'm sure if we prune it right it won't.
A Jonathon apple tree. He would like that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
click ALL THE PARTS YOU'VE MISSED and read the whole story.
click TALK IS MAGIC to join me on Twitter.
I won't even ask for COMMENTS . I know you rarely do that. But if you do... boy will I be grateful... thank you.
Celeste.... They call me Celeste..... 'heavenly'...'divine'... You've seen me in the background, while others, such as Marianne, or Roland claim the stage. I have no illusions. I just survive. My nativity, both mortal and immortal was not unique... for night-folk, I mean. Nothing so dramatic as Marianne. No, not like that. Do you know, her story, if I understand this correctly, comprises one of the most visited parts of this record? ... Marianne In Britches by Billy Kravitz... They 'google' it. They scroll back and forth, til they see the whole thing. Someone with the right bed-friends in California wants to make a film of it. She says she doesn't care, Marianne, I mean but I see how she flips her hair and angles her jaw toward the glass. She is vain. So was Jonathon. Maybe that's not a bad thing. Perhaps I'm too quiet?
We leave the house at dusk and come back with first light. We avoid Sarah... not because we're cold, or uncaring, but because we're guilty and don't know what to say. Peter was a special thing to us.... the first new elferino upon these shores in more than two hundred and fifty years. So we took to him... beguiled by an evil 'Peter Pan.' And look what happened.
It's so quiet now. I want to talk with Sarah. I do. But I don't know what to say. Did you think immortality brings wisdom? I suppose it has the potential for that. But mostly it just brings time.
I feel the air. I feel the warmth. I feel the soil. La Prima Vera begins... the Season of First Faith... all things new... for that's what the words really mean. Well, we have no choice. We must all be new things too. I browsed through an all-night food market two hours ago. Sometimes I buy things if I like the way they smell, or the way they look, or the color. They had apples, 'Jonathon' apples.... small and sweet, tangy too. I could tell. So I bought some. Most I gave to a man selling papers and magazines from a little booth near a hotel. They used to have a lot of them, but there's still a few. At first he didn't want them. He said - Ain't no razor blade shoved inside, is there?... I said - No. No razor blades. .... He knew I wasn't lying.... Then he took one from the white, plastic bag and rinsed it with a squirt from his water bottle. Cut it in half with a pen knife too. I suppose that was to make sure. I hope the pen knife was clean. I watched, as he crunched into it. Nothing sounds like a fresh, crisp apple. Even night-folk... especially night-folk, appreciate that. He thanked me with a mouth full of sweet-tart fruit, as I left.
Later, back at the townhouse, I put two in the refrigerator. One for Edith and one for Billy. The third one, the last one, I butchered for the seeds. Then I found a little, clay pot out back in the kitchen garden (actually a glorified patio) put some dirt in from one of the flower beds, poked in two seeds and moistened it in the sink. A Jonathon apple tree. I will grow one. Months from now, when it gets cold again, I'll take the pot inside. Maybe after two, or three years I'll plant it in the ground. Hopefully it won't get too big. Tomorrow night I'll ask Billy to look it up. I'm sure if we prune it right it won't.
A Jonathon apple tree. He would like that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
click ALL THE PARTS YOU'VE MISSED and read the whole story.
click TALK IS MAGIC to join me on Twitter.
I won't even ask for COMMENTS . I know you rarely do that. But if you do... boy will I be grateful... thank you.
