SculcavantCreative

youtu.be/D8zHy-DIKqM

"The Wild Places"


Air-blown hair and windows down,

Feet up on the dash

Leaves flicker their welcome, 

As you go by,

Too fast

Hand out the window,

Looking at the sky


Tree branches reach and converge above you

Nothing but green around you

Portals beckoning you to another world,

To leave the mundane behind

You are on an adventure

You didn't expect tonight


A whole new place you enter,

Somewhere between this realm and the next

These are the hinterlands,

And now you are on a quest


Through the trees the winds whisper,

Gently in your ear,

Kissing your skin softly saying,

"Come, you are welcome here-


Lose yourself,

Find yourself,

Bring it all to bare,

Yell and scream out your soul,

Into the waiting air."


The Elder Trees murmur

To the Little Saplings,

Of all that they have seen,

Of places that were,

Of places that have been 


You may be part of the conversation,

If you wish to hear

They're happy to have you,

Never you fear 


Ancient water

Through ancient rocks

Of the Mountains Old


All holding things that are unexplained,

Things that are untold


Quietly you close your eyes,

And you take it all in

Breathe in, breathe out

And listen to all of the things out there

That don't wear human skin


But it cannot last forever,

Your eyes open once more

But they have a different shine

Than they had before


Slowly you tare yourself away,

Though reluctant you are to leave

Back to the ordinary


But just before you go,

You think you hear them say,

"Do come back, if you please."


You smile and nod, knowing you'll be back


For you know that there's something you lack,

And you find it out there, 

In The Wild Places

And that is why you go back.

It's amazing, she thought closing her eyes for a moment, where a scent can take you.

She was referring to the scent of the bongo drums with the mother-of-pearl on the outside that had been around since long before she could remember.

The scent was a combination of the red painted wood on the inside, the stretched leather over the top, and the smell of incense which was imbued deeply into the whole affair.

It was one of the scents of her childhood, much like a kitchen pregnant with the smell of spaghetti sauce and the voices of her grandparents and her mother and various other relatives who happened to be there at the time.

But now, she placed the bongo drums in front of her son, letting him smell that smell and become familiar with it, just as she had, because they would be his one day just as they were hers now.

If you enjoyed "The Chronicles of The Great Battle of The Mittens", then watch out for the sequels!

The Chronicles of The Great Battle of The Bottle and Binkie

The Chronicles of The Great Battle of The Bath

The Chronicles of The Great Battle of The Diaper

COMING SOON

The Chronicles of The Great Battle of The Mittens:

Monday, the 18th of February, in the Year of Our Lord 2019

It has been a grueling battle-one between my son, James, and I-with much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

But, I digress, as I get ahead of myself.

Let me start at the beginning-

It all began early this morn. The youngest Dunning required a change of his onesie. I went to fetch another from his closet,  and a new pair of mittens from the drawer where they are kept. Now, when picking mittens,  I am very particular, as the one who wears them has a habit of getting out of them and scratching his handsome little face,  which he does quickly, seemingly without remorse or a sense self preservation. I picked a pair I thought would suffice.

I was so very wrong.

I changed his diaper,  as per usual,  then put the mittens on before his clean onesie,  my thinking being that,  with part of the mittens securely tucked into the sleeve of said onesie,  it would be at least mildly more difficult for him to get it off them.

I was a blasted, bloody fool for hoping.

He went down for a nap, and then suddenly,  a piercing wail cut the silence like the point of an arrow. I do not recall the reason for the outcry. A soiled diaper? Hunger? Perhaps it was a reason only discernable to James himself. I know not.

I went to tend to him.

Then all hell broke loose.

In an attempt to sate the child until his bottle was warmed sufficiently, I proffered him his favorite binkie,  which is attached to his onesie for the reason I am about to describe.

The binkie which was meant to bring peace and goodwill was rejected, as James spat it from his mouth. It dangled perilously from his onesie like a bungee jumper, useless, defunct of its sole purpose.

The wailing intensified.

I willed the bottle to warm faster as my ears began to ring.

Off came the first mitten,  torn from James's hand by his other, callously and ruthlessly cast asunder like so much refuse. It was lost to me for a good ten minutes before I found it again, lying under the bed pitifully. Once it was recovered, not short of much effort on my part,  I slipped it back on his little fist, with him protesting the whole while.

I proceded to feed him again...only to have the other mitten flung from him and behind my back. On and on this went for what seemed like infinity, with me replacing one mitten, only to have the other flung down.

It was a testament to both our wills, this battle,  but it had become clear to me what the outcome would be: a neverending circle of violence against the mittens, committed by my son, and enabled by me.

The madness had to come to an end.

But, as it was, I had an ace in the hole: different mittens. Ones not so easily tossed aside.

To his room I marched with determination, and into the drawer with his mittens I went. I pulled out a pair, one with dinosaurs on them (my favorite is the T-rex that says "RORR") that matched the onesie he was wearing.

"Yes," said I,  "These will do."

I wound my way back to James with renewed determination. I laid him down on his changing table-time to change his diaper again, anyway-and set to work. Then I slipped on the new mittens I had selected. Of course he attempted to inflict the same fate upon these mittens as he did the others, but on they stayed!

And have stayed since!

I know there will, undoubtedly, be more battles such as this one, but on this day, the victory went to me.

For on this day, I have won.