And this is indeed the end of Oriente's story, and The Soul of the Rose may return to Delphinia's catastrophes, and the reader will have a much-altered perspective of this new villain, Gauvain's arch-nemesis, Oskar, and Gauvain's tragically dead sister, with whose portrait Delphinia has been so long obsessed.

And we will wonder at Gauvain's hypocrisy, or is it hypocrisy? Will he pursue his forbidden love with Delphinia, or cut her off? Better yet, what will Oskar do with Delphinia at Gauvain's looking, Delphinia who so resembles his dead, beloved Oriente? And amazingly, the person I feel sorriest for is Gauvain, and I really believe he is the most honorable, lovely character who is being hated and reviled by every person he ever loved for clinging to the honor and law that make him a worthy Markgraf.

I wonder who will save this sorry wreck of events? It can only be Gauvain's much-reviled bride Adelia, who is bearing the innkeeper's child. Yes, I think Adelia, who has never done a good thing for anyone, may have her part.

It is but a little before my story is told and its end rests with me here, at my writing desk. Gervaise has brought a cup of tea and a shawl to keep me warm, but a part of me that she and they will never see is bitterly cold, in the desolate place with my love.

It was not once but twice that my false family stole from me the one thing that made my life purely sweet: my Oskar.

We continued to love one another openly until my brother’s return from Baden Baden.

Gauvain was stricken immediately by my debilitated looks. I was wasting away; could nothing be done? The fresh air did me good, the fresh air was my enemy—sweet cakes revived my spirit, then reviled it. The doctor was making but guesses and would have put a frailer form through torture who dared to live by his advice.

I was dying. What was the difference? I told Gauvain that I wanted Oskar to live with us. I held his hand and wept to recall his letter. I had written my reply in his absence and merely handed it to him when he entered my sitting room. I had not mentioned a word in it of my love. It still remained pointing against my heart like a thorn.

In this lapse of my health the pretense of friendship came easily for myself and Oskar. Our platonic nature was unfeigned as my constitution could not withstand more than ordinary tenderness.

But, he held my hand. He read to me. I played for him. Gauvain saw that Oskar had become my whole world, and he did not know what to make of this. The servants were as yet discreet.

It was I who told my brother the truth. I had begun to hope, wildly and against all good sense, that Gauvain would bless our feelings for one another given the particularly impermanent nature of my being.

I did not tell Oskar what I planned. On a good day, I walked to Gauvain’s study myself and signaled him.

He called my name and guided me to a chair, pleased and fond as ever brother could be.

The state of my dumbness was disadvantage to be sure, but I had profited at this time by the liberty of drafting at length a record to Gauvain of my doings till it said precisely what I wished, and this I withdrew from my pocket and passed onto his desk.

“My dear brother,” I wrote, “I am obliged to make a confession to you of feelings you must have long suspected. Though I am so frail, my will has always been strong, and unable to be controlled by man’s law. I love, and am loved in return, and I am unbelievably rich for it. Will you not fill with joy likewise for your sister’s mirth in this time of darkness?”

I had deliberately left the page at this, and before he turned to the next, he took my hand, as I hoped he would, and said, “Oriente, can this be true? I want only happiness for you, though I cannot conceive of the one who would fully master a heart such as yours.”

I watched him with burning gaze as he read down, and I turned cold as I knew he turned cold, and I watched the blood drain from his face with a sinking heart. He looked back at me; I pleaded him with my eyes to understand.

“Oriente,” he said in a changed, cold voice. “You have been many things in your life, but I have never known you to be a deceiver.”

“Deceiver!” I scrawled frantically across the page. “As though I might be capable of concealing my emotions. You have seen them writ across me a thousand times.”

“I did not take that to mean…” He could not go on, and I could not write. My hand shook too wildly when I realized what I had done. I gathered to my feet, clutching my cane frantically. “Oriente, you knew how things were. You knew as a child, I’m sure, that Oskar was one of us.”

Oskar entered the room carelessly till he saw me standing, tears spilling from my eyes. He stopped immediately and stared aghast between myself and Gauvain. “What’s this?”

Gauvain went to him, and I thought from the look of him that he would strangle Oskar. “You. Are no better than a rutting dog on his kin. The best animals guard against this disgrace.”

I reached them and pushed myself between them, watching Gauvain fiercely. No matter what terrible things he would say, this was my choice, there was honor in it, even if only in my own private world. His murderous gaze turned to me.

“A fancy bitch you are. Your affections are but lies and deceit. Can it be that the grave which beckons you has already curled around your heart all the wickedness of its hell?”

“She’s a woman, Gauvain. Not a child to be led like a pony on a string. Darling,” he looked at me. “I know what you would say.” He held me fast. “She and I have lived apart, matured separately. Between us is not the familiarity of kin. This would be perversity indeed, but for her I am not a brother, but a forbidden friendship and now, love. We understand each other in a way—I should say it—that stems perhaps from our similar beings, cast from the same mold, and no one else will ever understand either of us. We could not be more loving. We could not be more one.”

I choked convulsively, for it seemed Gauvain would kill him with looks alone. Oskar went too fast, too far, but he was impassioned, and God knows what I would have said if I could speak. Gauvain struck his half-brother, his face hard as stone, his eyes like hell as he withdrew the violating fist.

Oskar recovered and went from the room, and guided by a desperate instinct, I followed with every last bit of my strength. My pathetic effort was for nothing, and Gauvain caught me, held me fast as I struggled on the ground and beat at his feet and legs.

He shouted for Gervaise—oh, this obedient creature—who confined me and looked after me so that I could not chase Oskar, who I knew was leaving—who I feared desperately I would see nevermore, and after days of mindless grief I learned that Oskar was thrown in prison, for some crime he could not possibly have committed, and his only witness a sad, poor mute easily constrained.

But this is the power of the Markgraf, and has always been.

Labels: excerpt, The Soul of the Rose

Everything is wet and warm and colorful, and I'm alone, no one to share this right now. When once I would not have minded, I do mind now, and there doesn't seem like anything I can do to truly reach out across the universe and share what I feel. The illusion is shattered, and no stories will abate this bittersweet ache.

What can I do to describe myself, when the world of stories is netted in premise and hook for me now, and there is no longer a rain-drenched garden in which I can step, where they will be waiting for me?

Are they there no longer, and is this where I am left, this place, this earth, that I have seen only in reluctant glimpses because I am always looking impatiently out the window into another place?

I want to take a hand that will jerk me into those echoing hallways where rose petals blow in through open windows from the garden, where people with haunting eyes stare. You can't be gone. You can't leave me behind. I will chase you.

At the end of the BJD convention Nathan and I took a fortifying stop at Dhaba Joy, which has become a favorite, despite that everything we've tried tastes a little bit off. If Starbucks beverages are Hollywood productions, these are indie films.

This time I had the Dhaba Fire Mocha, which I liked very much, but like an indie film, would not have played at Starbucks. It was even injected with a little "art for art's sake."

You can make an arty photo out of just about everything in the shop, including the bathroom; which has two chairs opposite the toilet, so that you can have an earthy conversation with friends.

We took a walk after breakfast, but after this old, interesting sign, the street basically ended.

Labels: Texas

Some shots of Calloway Cemetery, Arlington, TX, with my Treo 650.

According to the historical marker, the cemetery was in use from the 1870's and in it are buried many early area pioneers.

The marker stated that this shelter was built in 1908.

Labels: Texas

The Season of Simplicity, nineteenth-century Japan, will begin in autumn. Shiratori is studying to become a tea master when he meets a young, affianced noble. I want to expand on the idea of wabi sabi and the autumnal tradition of using older, humbler things with a sense of care.

Recently I have become interested in the art of James Tissot.  His art is realistic, but there are otherworldly qualities, too. His work fixes on the rare, otherworldly moments we find in our own lives.

In "The Captain's Daughter," a father is glancing back at a shipmate. The younger man's clothing probably describes his station exactly, but I can tell the captain considers him a significant prospect for his daughter. The younger man has an animalistic look evoking the realistic and naturalistic subjects in late nineteenth-century literature, like those of Eugene O'Neill.

The cool, detached look of the young woman implies she has not concerned herself with the nearby presence of the men. Her collected bearing and binoculars suggest she is intellectual and probably interested in her father's work at sea. There is something very similar about the father and daughter, and the red-haired man is different. Tissot emphasizes this similarity by giving their black clothing white accents, and their relationship is revealed by his arm opened toward her.

Every detail in the painting becomes important with study. The spectators behind are perhaps like those in an art gallery. The rope neatly knotted beside the woman suggests her future, like the rope in Waterhouse's Destiny, or maybe her methodical mind. Also, like Waterhouse's La Belle Dame Sans Merci, and I know I should stop here, the suitor's telescope is pointing like the knight's lance. It also suggests a relationship in interests between the suitor and the captain's daughter.

The picture at first seemed menacing and bleak, but with further study I developed a much different conclusion; it is as though an entire story unfolded as I noticed the details. It may be that works of art like this are in fact a kind of nonlinear story.

In memory of my grandfather, Robert H. Heins, who passed away this morning around 4 a.m.

It's all I have to bring today --
This, and my heart beside --
This, and my heart, and all the fields --
And all the meadows wide --
Be sure you count -- should I forget
Some one the sum could tell --
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.

Emily Dickinson

My life continued as an idle pace as I discovered the joys of the countryside. I heard myself think. I sang to myself as I attacked the momentous prospect of righting the dwarves' neglected abode. I studied the accounts with Dieter over tea and learned as much about this foreign race, attracted to money as moths to light, as I did about dollars and sense.

I was almost totally happy. I forged friendships with the dwarves, and they became as much, if not more, my family, than my employers. Edritch assumed a fatherly position over me, which touched me keenly, for father I had never had.

But I did not forget the shadowed and incongruous life I had lived before. I almost longed at times for my prison, for my stepmother's cruelty and even more for the stolen moments at the well with my secret prince.

By now he must have married a noble maiden, though I would have been more than suitable, because I had been forced to abdicate my home.

Soon I would discover, in another unexpected turn of my life, that no one from my former kingdom had forgotten about me, either.

It all came back to me in the form of a Drummondi nomad visiting the cottage. I was alone, for it was Dieter's first day in the mine with the others. As I swept, I was attracted to the sound of her singing outside the cottage. I peered out the window and saw all of her bohemian grace. She was a very old woman who moved with the carelessness of the unfettered, and she was pushing a cart full of tinkling things.

Her eyes lit on me with a sparkle as she conversed with me through the open window. "I thought this cottage to be inhabited by men only."

I was seized with caution. Neither Edritch nor Dieter had mentioned this particular solicitor to me before.

"Don't be afraid, my dear. I suppose you don't get many visitors in the woods. Come out into the light. I want to have a better look at you. You're a very pretty maiden."

"I cannot, madam. I am bound to continue my work."

"Can you not spare a moment, mistress, to draw me a little water from your well before I travel on?"

When I saw how aged she truly was, I felt ashamed of myself for being suspicious. That was not my nature now. I was a free woman, after all.

After I had drawn her all the water she liked, she appeared much refreshed and grew animated. She wanted dearly to show me some of the trinkets from her cart. I could think of no reason to refuse her.

She examined my long, black hair with zeal. "You have no ornaments," she protested.

"I have no need for them, madam," I said with a rueful smile. "I have no sweetheart, and I have no prospects amid my present company."

"None?" she asked, her eyes penetrating mine. The gypsies were known for intuiting things one did not want to reveal.

Memories of the prince washed over me. I thought of how I had gone to him in rags, and still he had found me lovely. My mannerisms and kind words had been my only ornaments.

"There is someone you loved once," the old bohemian said, "who has vanished from your life without a trace. But I foresee that he will come into your life again. You must prepare yourself, my sweet."

"That's impossible," I said, but I could not conceal how her words arrested me.

Before I could protest, she slipped a black comb into my hair, a pretty thing I had admired covertly as she turned it over and over in her hands, an ornament inlaid with mother of pearl and brilliant gems. "Madam, I have nothing with which to pay you."

"This is a gift in return for your generosity. Your pure water has restored me, and I thank you."

I stared after her as she left, the bells on her cart tinkling merrily. I went to the mirror to look at my hair with the pretty comb, and I wondered if the gypsy's words were true. Would I really see my beloved again?

There was no hiding my new trinket from Edritch's keen eyes, and I soon found myself explaining the old woman's visit to the dwarves. They were more alarmed than I had expected. None of them had seen this woman, or any gypsy, in their territory before. Gypsies did not normally attempt to sell to dwarves, since the race was more interested in gold itself than its material offerings.

"They must know that a human lives here now," I rationalized, and even as I said it, I felt a sense of foreboding, because if word had reached Drummondi that a lone woman was living with dwarves, my hiding place was in jeopardy. Indeed, after the gypsy's visit, I was less comfortable in the cottage, and I lived with a sense of fear.

I saw the old gypsy again a few weeks later. I heard the trundle of her cart's wheels and went to meet her with water this time. She seemed even older and more withered than before. This time, I wanted not trinkets, but information.

"Madam," I said, "I have not seen this lover as you promised."

"In good time, my dear. He will come for you in time."

"From where will he come?" I asked.

"He will come for you from the North."

This caused me to shiver, because the Prince was from a Northern territory.

"He will come for you on a white horse. He will carry you back to his castle."

I gasped. "Castle. You speak as though my lover is royal."

"I cannot say but what I see. Now, my dear, I have a gift for you."

She reached into a trunk and withdrew a black embroidered corset. I regarded the item with surprise. I knew it was suited for a princess, but such beautiful things I had never worn. I had dressed in rags all of my life.

"I can give you nothing in return," I protested.

"I will tell you a secret. The water from your well has a special life-giving property. It nourishes the body and restores the soul to right. I would give a dozen of those corsets for another dipper's full from your well."

I obliged her with another dipper's full and accepted the gift she offered. The old woman helped me lace the corset properly, since I knew nothing of such things. It was very tight and restricted my breathing. The comb in my hair was uncomfortable, too. The tines pricked my scalp and sometimes gave me a headache. But I could see that these things made me more beautiful, as I wished to look for my secret prince when we met again one day.

When the old woman left, a flame of hope in my heart burned more brightly, even though I knew I should have no reason at all to hope.

Now I began to dream of how my prince would come to me. Word would reach him of how I had run away from the castle. He would learn of my stepmother's bad deed. He would take me to his home, where I would be safe. I would no longer have to hide my identity or feel frightened. Thoughts of his love were like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. I gave many of my afternoons over to these fantasies.

The dwarves saw that I was discontent, and that there was nothing they could really do for me. But one evening they held a grand little party for me, with only the eight of us in attendance. Edritch played an old organ which had been in disuse for a number of years. I danced with all of them, and we told stories around the fire. I told them about my childhood at the castle, my happy days in the forest, and how I had met the prince.

The dwarves grew sad when I told them the old woman's prediction that he would come for me on a white horse. But they knew that our arrangement could be only a temporal one. It gave our following time together a special significance.

A few weeks later, I saw the old gypsy again. She was more debilitated than before. I realized that she must be ill, and that was why she sought the life-giving water from our well. I hastily brought it to her again. She was too weak and tired to speak for a while, and we sat together near the stream till she had recovered her breath.

Then she withdrew an apple from her pocket. "This is not an ordinary apple," she said. "It was given to me by my leader to rid my body of its afflictions. In return for your kindness, I will give you one-half of this apple. Though your youthful body has no need for healing, it will keep you from being worn down by the hard work you do each day. Your hands and face will remain soft and fresh when your lover comes for you."

I refused the apple, for the lady had need of the entire fruit. She laughed and told me that a bite of the apple was sufficient to heal her. She convinced me very persuasively till I took a bite. I intended to give her the rest of my half, but when I tasted of the sweet fruit, a lethargy fell over me.

I lay back on the mossy banks and grew aware of the sound of the rushing water, the birds in the trees. All of my senses were heightened. My skin flushed. The world around me felt as though it were spinning. I turned on my side to look for the old woman, but I found myself alone.

I began to grow afraid that the magical fruit had a bad effect on those whose bodies were not diseased. My body grew clammy and quivering. I crawled on my hands and knees toward the dwarves' cottage, but my strength left me in the dooryard, and I expired there with the hens pecking around me in the grass.

Labels: excerpt, Snow White

Last night, this verse spoke directly to my heart.

Then I observed that most people are motivated to success because they envy their neighbors. But this, too, is meaningless-- like chasing the wind.

It is something I needed to know. For so long I have struggled with mixed feelings about seeking recognition or publication of my work. Something deep inside me has held back, and I have not known why.

I have seen what other people do, and I have thought that I should do that, too, and I have tried to do it, but it hasn't worked. Other people get a lot of recognition and attention for the things they create, and I get almost none.

But I have a desire to create and publicize beauty. Whether it's a photograph or a story of my own, or a poem or a painting of someone else's, sharing what I find beautiful gives me joy, and I believe it is good to God, and makes the world a better place.

Perhaps this verse was not written for me, because I am not the person who wants more money, more things, a higher-paying job. But when I read it, it gave me a sense of freedom. It no longer matters to me how much attention or recognition I get, because what I do is its own reward. And the creative work that is not its own reward, I no longer want to do.

More fantastic blogs than I can read. Every Day is a Holiday.

This blog is about Disney princesses in pop culture. I must check it out later.

I need to give these a closer look later.

I don't kid as I say that I have no idea what the next turn of Snow White will reveal till it's written. I only trust that the underlying passion with which I write promises there is something very pertinent to my life about every piece of this story.

My fascination has only grown since last weekend I read The Complete Idiot's Guide to Elves and Fairies in Borders, which revealed Snow White as a core story of the Goddess, her death and rebirth. I found that piece of information captivating, and I think it explains why I feel this strong energy emanating from the story.

The story of the Goddess is repeated in the course of every woman's life. I start out in the innocence of childhood, which becomes increasingly shadowed. I find myself shockingly bare in the world, and isolated from everything I have ever known. Then I go into business for myself. Then, who knows? I haven't written that part yet.

Out of the darkness of my disturbed slumber, into light I hurtled as I became aware of a bustle in the house. My eyes flew wide, and of course at first, I knew not where I lay, nor how I came to be in this place. Relentlessly my memories rushed on me and I relived all the terrors of the previous day.

My heart wrung within my breast anew as I considered my stepmother's betrayal, and the fugitive life I had begun the previous day when the huntsman had released me into the woods alone.

I had never before awakened with such pressing grief and regrets, but my disillusionment was quickly replaced with raw terror as I realized my encounter with strangers was imminent. To what extent they might hold me accountable for my intrusion, or betray my identity to my enemy, I did not know, and I was entirely powerless.

I was just rising from my bed when I heard them pounding up the stairs. I told myself they were only children, and yet I knew my assumption false as soon as I beheld them, all seven. Not children, but small, wizened men. My head spun as I realized I was much farther from my home kingdom than I had thought. These was the dwarves described by Drummondi nomads, the existence of which had oft been decried by my noble peers.

They had quite sensibly already ascertained that their home had been breached, and that the enemy was in wait for them upstairs, and arrived at the top of the stairs ready to do war.

I stared at them, a thousand questions rushing my mind as I strove, above all else, to protect my life by my own wits, a skill I had not exercised often within the castle walls.

"Gentlemen," I said cautiously, "I mean you no harm. I am a mere woman. I sought protection in your home because I have none of my own. I am prepared to leave quietly if you will allow it."

This deflated the worst of the tension. "Woman," the eldest said, sizing me up with an intelligence that I must admit charmed me as I considered the workings of this different species, "you do not have the look of a savvy traveler. Your dress and shoes suggest you have not been without a home for very long."

I leaned across the bed and leveled with him. "I was turned out of my home by my stepmother, who hates me."

Nothing could have sounded more believable issuing from my lips that the bitter truth. The understanding on their faces convinced me that they were not so different from me after all, and that these things were not unheard of.

Encouraged, I related my country of origin, which shocked them. They asked me if I had any idea how far from my home I had traveled during the night. Then, one of the dwarves insisted I stay for breakfast. He seemed much moved by my plight, and the others followed him in like sympathy.

I extricated myself from the bedclothes and righted the beds before following them downstairs and discovered anew the house that had seemed abandoned the previous day.

Because I did not wish to be of any further trouble, and because an idea was starting to form in my mind, I said, "You must allow me to make breakfast for you, as repayment for the board I have taken in your house."

The dwarves were surprised, pleased and curious. All, especially the eldest, were starting to sense I was something of an anomaly, noble and yet servile. My clothes were raw and my hands roughened, but my speech left an impression of education and refinement. I let them think while I did what I did best, and that was to keep house and re-establish order. I let my mind work as quickly as my fingers as I cleaned the stove and set a pot to boil, then inventoried the cupboard and set the usable goods from the spoiled. I would have to accentuate my core truth with some lies if I was to preserve my true identity. If word reached the Queen that I lived still, she would come for me, and she would not be likely to show mercy to my protectors.

I prepared the most graceful breakfast possible on a fresh tablecloth. The youngest of the dwarves, nearly a boy, gathered flowers for the table, which pleased me as I sought to set a stage which would impress.

"This is very good," the eldest, whose name was Edritch, commented empirically.

Ansolm and Dieter, the other two who had shown a personal interest in me, agreed in a savory aspect. I wondered, as I watched them, if it would be best to broach the subject of my employment directly or lead them to the suggestion themselves.

Edritch, however, was still considering my situation. "Being far from home with little prospect, I suppose you are looking for a position."

I met his gaze over my chipped tea cup. "I am not without prospect, yet, sir. I suppose there are other homes like yours looking to hire out."

"I find it curious, mistress, that you have not asked what we do during the night, nor how we sustain ourselves, isolated in the woods as we are."

"I have little notion of your customs, sir, and would not presume where my inquiry is not wanted. But, suppose you tell me, after all?"

He watched me keenly. "We mine from the richest cave in the known world, and we assume sole control. We do our work under the cover of night, so that others will not find our cave, and sleep during the day. We are in constant fear of being discovered by a rival company. I see an opportunity for your assistance, not merely as housekeeper, but to keep watch during the day while we sleep. We may even be able to make arrangements together so that it is safe for us to mine during the day."

I shrugged to indicate their business was not of greater interest to me than to secure my own safety.

"If you agree to the arrangement, Dieter will remain with you during the day to introduce you to our suppliers and tradesmen. He is for the time being in charge of maintaining our accounts, but he is growing old enough to join us in the mines, and because we are in need of another hand, we may propose to you a further advance as accountant."

I was not sure at first if Edritch was serious. I had never been useful for anything more than sweeping floors and gathering flowers in the woods. I studied the froth in my tea to avoid revealing my bubbling excitement.

I looked at Edritch. "I'm sure we may begin a trial immediately. If the situation proves unfruitful for either of us, we can of course discontinue with one another at any time." I concealed not only my hopes, but my vulnerability, for I knew in my heart this was to be my only prospect.

Thus began the first day in a new and unexpected twist of my life, as I went into a service for which I would be paid handsomely.

Labels: excerpt, Snow White