I was in the garden picking Guindo Santo for the cook, again. Why he insists on stealing into my garden to procure herbs, the effects of which he hasn’t the faintest clue, for his experiments in the kitchen is beyond me. I will make him this tea once more to calm his stomach and after that I believe I will ask the Hawthorns to act as a hedgerow for the herbs.
But, this is where I was when I noticed the plants perk up and a sweet breeze rustle my leaves; I turned toward the direction he always approaches and smiled to see his distant form. He reminds me of the Oak trees, sturdy and strong, an unshakable presence that is also undemanding.
Our routine is a quiet dance, a submissive nod, a generous smile, and the stroll to the perfect spot; he allows me to lead and I in turn let the garden lead. I settle and then he does. Watching him paint is the highlight of my week and I set my spells by the regularity of his visits.
Today, however, something followed him on the air. I could not tell what it was, so faint, but as his brush faltered in its strokes I noticed a bitterness in the soil beneath him. And that was when he told me. He did not see the surprise cross my face nor did he notice the Angel’s Tear bloom in my hair. His own dejection is the mirror of mine, but the roots of it are of another kind.
I could not bear seeing him so nor have him leave me so soon, so I offered the only gift I have to offer. I placed my hand on the embittered soil and poured all my love for him, Rowan, and all the wishes I hold for his future into it. There she bloomed with delicate, white star-shaped flowers giving off the slightest glow. I offered her to him for luck and inspiration and when the painting started to take shape beneath his steadied hand, my heart warmed knowing he would be in my world for yet a few more hours.
When he had departed, Grey arrived to inquire if I would accompany him on some sort of retrieval expedition. My garden and my soul lonely and raw urged me to find distraction in helping my friend; he seemed eager to depart the city, and who would not who is kept as a possession of a house? I want to help him grow, for that is what I believe he is doing, so without questions I went.
What followed is hazy now to me. I was too distracted, too elsewhere, to be able to detail what happened. I do not know if the others noticed, but my staff thought only to flower Venustas Siderea (this is the name I have given to mine and Rowan’s bloom). I tried to focus on following Grey, which led us underground and in the dark the glow of my blooms appeared to call my attention that much more. The only things that brought me back to the present situation were a man in a jar and a serpent I had not wanted them to kill.
The man seemed so oddly serene for being trapped; his willingness to endure such a condition shook me and yet seemed familiar. I do not understand fully what I am doing here or those with whom I’ve made acquaintance but I feel stirrings, roots reaching deeper.