Segment Four: Reunion of Yin and Yang

“I assume you came in response to the ad?” he asked.

“Yes, I-”

“You understand this is a partnership.”

“Yes, but-”

“Are you prepared to do whatever is asked of you?” As if they had a mind of their own, his fingers rolled out a rhythm.

Her spoon clinked against her tea cup. “I don’t consider anything too menial if that’s what you’re asking.”

She met his purposeful gaze with one of her own.

He nodded and fisted his drumming fingers lest he appear too eager. It couldn’t be that easy. She seemed so amenable.

“The beginning will be the most demanding, most difficult.” He watched as her eyes hinted at uncertainty. “You’ll have to place complete confidence in me in order for this merger to work.”

“Merger?” She fidgeted with her cup, clasping and releasing the porcelain rim with slender fingers. “Is there another company involved?”

“No. Figure of speech. This partnership is a merger.”

A slight smile molded her lips. “Oh. Perhaps you could give me more information about the job.”

“Partnership.”

“Sorry.” Katherine lowered her gaze, pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaled, then tucked her hand under the table. “Yes, you did say that. I’m just a bit unclear.” She raised her chin. “The ad was very brief. You must admit that ‘Needed: a partner in the business of adventure and magic’ is a bit nebulous. I guess I assumed you’d want someone knowledgeable in the travel industry. I’ve traveled extensively, but have never run a business. Can you explain a bit about what you’d expect me to contribute? It might help me to understand if we’d suit.”

“Oh, we suit.” At her startled expression, he coughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, nobody else showed up.” She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. Maybe he’d need to take another tack with her.

He leaned forward. “Do you believe in fate?”

She leaned back, her eyes full of doubt.

“I do,” he said. “Fate sent you to my door. Whatever you possess, I need. Of this, I am certain.”

Copyright 2010: All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or unknown, in any information storage or retrieval system, or for any other use without express permission from author is forbidden.

Segment Three: Reunion of Yin and Yang

Gray took in the discomfited creature. Nobody else was coming. She was the one. He might have dried her out a bit on the first pass, but the shock of the room had already shaken her and he didn’t want her to bolt. He’d prefer to avoid losing her. He needed her. If she turned him down, he’d never be able to finish.

He had an ancient contract. She’d come on the auspices of a job. He nudged her toward the table. With narrowed eyes, he observed her back. While she focused on the table, he gave the air a swirl-just a subtle push of energy to speed the drying process. She’d never notice. Dry clothes and wavy hair seemed important to her comfort-and he did want to see to her comfort.

She hesitated beside the table. He reached around her and pulled the chair back, careful not to touch her, but close enough to sniff the fragrance of roses emanating from her hair. She lowered herself slowly, then lifted her chin and gazed into his eyes.

“And, your name?”

“Gray Stone.” He focused on her eyes. If only she were capable of seeing inside his mind, then his mission could proceed effortlessly. But the spell was cast by his own hand and therefore impenetrable.

He quickly rounded the table and sat. With as much calm as he could muster, he poured tea and offered her a plate of fruit and pastries. In silence, she selected a few strawberries and added milk to her tea. Hints of bergamot filled the air as she stirred the steaming liquid. He flattened his palms on the coarse linen-covered table and refrained from the urge to drum his fingers. How to proceed?

Copyright 2010: All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or unknown, in any information storage or retrieval system, or for any other use without express permission from author is forbidden.

Segment Two: Reunion of Yin and Yang

The stark environment mystified her and she took several steps backward. Not a chair or a table. No furniture at all. She turned. Not even a coat rack in sight. When she’d looked through the window ten minutes ago, the room had been fully decorated. The tiny hairs on her neck tingled. Her heart thudded. She was already an emotional wreck. This interview was going to be a bust.

Heavy footfalls echoed from the rear of the cavernous room, the sound indicating a fast approach. A man, she presumed the one who’d unlocked the door, stopped in front of her. Katherine stared, her dripping raincoat suspended from her trembling fingers.

He scowled, the action bringing together a set of thick black brows.

“Sorry,” he said. He waved his hand in a circle indicating the empty space. Within that heartbeat, the area manifested a tasteful array of overstuffed furniture. She blinked. Her eyes wouldn’t have lied. What had just happened? She squeezed her free hand against her thigh to still the jitters racing along her nerve endings. A well laid table displayed a morning repast. She edged back and her shoulder bumped an ornate coat tree. The man lifted the rain slicker from her fingertips and slipped it onto an empty hook.

He gestured toward the table. “Shall we, Katherine?”

He knew her name? She wiped her damp palms on her skirt. She had to get a grip. There wasn’t any reason to believe malice of intent. After all, maybe he’d been introduced to her while she’d been too new in town to remember names and faces. As for the room.... She clamped her teeth on the delicate skin inside her lower lip. Her nerves refused to calm.

“You are hungry?” He raised a brow.

The quizzical expression demanded a response she wasn’t prepared to give. How had he known she’d been too keyed up to eat or even swallow more than a drop of tea this morning? Her stomach clenched in protest, whether from fear or hunger she wasn’t sure.

So the guy knew her name and offered common hospitality. Would that make a normal person jumpy? Perhaps the mental fatigue had taken a toll, and the insidious appearance of insanity had reared its ugly head.

It could happen. Identity change could make someone lose a grasp on reality. Years of professional training, and then to never work in her field of expertise again certainly added to the anxiety. No family. No friends. She swallowed back the growing knot at the base of her throat. She needed a job. Something to bring order to her life. A tangible reason to get up every morning. Gutting fish wasn’t going to do it.

Copyright 2010: All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or unknown, in any information storage or retrieval system, or for any other use without express permission from author is forbidden.

Segment One: Reunion of Yin and Yang

Katherine crushed the soggy rolled up November 14, 2010 newspaper. A three line ad, circled several times in red marker, bled, marring the palm of her hand. Her brown galoshes provided a welcome shield from the rain slick sidewalk. Remnants of a late season hurricane dropped buckets of water on the northern coastal fishing village.

The chill-moist air contained familiar odors from the fish house. Mornings were dedicated to gutting, filleting, and freezing, afternoons to disinfecting the tables. A person could determine the time of day by the smells sweeping through the streets. During the past three months, she’d learned the ancient business employed half the village.

With the back of her newspaper-laden hand, she brushed dripping strands of hair from her brow. The edge of her yellow slicker flapped as the wind sailed down the narrow corridor between houses. The brisk air caught under her skirt, swirled around her thighs, and she shivered. Above the adjacent door, tuneless rusted chimes clanged, the sound grating her nerves.

If a professional appearance guaranteed the job, she’d be rejected. The plate glass window insured her makeup was intact, but the flirty curls she’d coaxed into her straight hair an hour ago, appeared flat-ironed. Drowned rat was probably an apt description she would earn from her potential employer.

The sign dangling from a small plastic hook on the exterior door announced “Closed”. She stretched her arm, baring her wrist, and eyed her watch. Eight fifty am. Appointments began at nine am. She hunched her shoulders against the next gust. Where were the other applicants? The unmistakable squeak of rubber boots sounded behind her. She crossed her arms over her chest and inched closer to the locked door. The line formed at the rear.

“Pardon me,” a smooth baritone voice commanded. She glanced behind, catching a glimpse of a male chin, then quickly dropped her gaze as wind blown rain threatened to run down her neck.

“You’re blocking the entry.” The oddly accented words were foreign to the village. If she wasn’t mistaken, there had been a hint of some European dialect.

Katherine edged to the side of the gray stone building, leaving just enough room to give the man access while she remained protected under the overhanging eaves. The man, well concealed beneath the hood of a blue raincoat, quickly inserted a key, turned the knob, and walked into the building. She glanced left, right, shoved the soggy newspaper into her pocket, then scurried forward.

The room was warm and blessedly dry. Scents of lemon-oiled wood within competed with the wet earth just outside the partially opened door. A gust of wind whirled inside and slammed the entrance door closed. Overhead, bright lights flickered to life. She swept back her rain hood, released the metal fasteners down the front, slipped off her coat and turned to take in the well lighted room. The fine hairs at the nap of her neck rose.

Something was wrong.


Copyright 2010: All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or unknown, in any information storage or retrieval system, or for any other use without express permission from author is forbidden.

Serial Stories

For my mother, serial stories were a cherished moment in her busy day. Weekly and monthly periodicals targeting women contained wonderful, uplifting, and engaging stories that would be spun out over a period of time from a month to a year. I loved going to my grandmother’s house and collecting all the back issues of these types of magazines and reading the entire story at once.

My patience for waiting for a further installment has never been good. Anyone remember waiting for the next Nancy Drew Mystery to arrive? Or more recently, for the next episode of Kinsey Millhone in the Sue Grafton alphabetized set?

As the 2010, Dagara Earth year draws to a close and the Dagara Water year, 2011, looms on the horizon, I am going to resurrect a short, sweet story told in my style of metaphysics blended with paranormal and laced with the subtly of water. If you miss a segment, you can always refer to the archive. Hope you’ll visit each Wednesday and Sunday though December 21st for your engaging moment.

Pathway for Water

A pathway where water flows beneath your feet, peeking out here and there in a bit of cut away cement.


"I take delight in the peace of a river, flowing so gently to the strength of the sea, I take delight in the love that is flowing just like a river between you and me." I don't know who composed those words, but I find myself drawn to them whenever I recall walking this path.


As winter approaches--yes we experienced our first snow fall last night, I'm reminded that regardless of the topical conditions--specifically ice, water continues to flow beneath. Go with the flow. Experience says trying to go against the stream is a wasted use of good energy.

Stone Talk

So many stories all in one place. If I could sit with each stone for a day, I'd be here for months. It brings to mind the mystics who seek the mountain tops to be at oneness with inner knowing. Our sweet earth, offers these places as an outpouring of wisdom from the ancients. Even the picture allows me to re-member and be at peace.

At Water's Edge

No geese in this picture. I hear them in the morning if I can get outside before I leave for the day. The soil next to this small lake is dry and cracked. We have had very little rain since September. The weather patterns are worthy of note. This is a very different, unpredictable fall.

October 30th Harvest

I have a difficult time just pulling up plants when there is still food production in process. With reluctance, I did clean up the tomato plants heavy with green fruit that would never ripen in the cooler temps. The herbs are gradually turning brown but the cold crops are certainly holding onto their vibrant color. This made a delicious meal. Chopped up. Sauteed in butter and garlic. And then, topped with some freshly grated Parmesan cheese.

Food Appreciation

Need I say more?
We really can feed ourselves from a very small amount of land.

Holding On

What do you hold dear to your heart?

Beauty in the Web of Life

A beautiful web from summer. As I enter the cusp of my quiet, creative season, I think of the energy of spider. I had many webs this year, though many are now abandoned and clumped in a sticky nondescript mass of white.

Spider medicine is associated with the magic and energy of creation. Spider is about keeping the feminine energies of creation alive and strong. And, spider is associated with spiral energy, the links with the past and the future. It describes me. Fusing the past into the present and beyond--Kin Domains.

Last Burst

Unusual color for a fall day. There are so many oranges and yellows. These really stand out although in just two days since the photo they have begun to dry and tips of the leaves are now brown. A couple of weeks ago, I snapped a beautiful picture of bee in flight on these very flowers. Since then, I haven't seen any more bees. The nights have dropped into the high thirties.