nedful things

The villian has a scar and a patch on one eye
he ties up fair maidens and laughs at the sky
on seeing the danger, you ask only why?
and he tells you the train is coming...

In the crowded theatre
I chose a seat in the back
where the projected light
blinded all to my presence as
I watched from the distance.
The drama drew me and yet,
I remained seated.
I cried when it was sad
I laughed when it was funny
(I cried when it was funny
and laughed when it got sadder)

I spoil everything
with words

How can she be rescued?
She who defiantly
stands her track
and sneers at the engineer?
This is not my script
I would rewrite each scene.
The hero's utterances
would be laden with passion,
entreaties of such beauty
The pathos would make me cry.
(but there I go again...
shouting from the balcony)

I spoil everything
with words

The lights will return
amidst the debris of denouement.
Excited spectators who
satiated on grease and fear
tossed the remnants of their
attentions aside and
scattered them behind.
Content with their safety
they return to the familiar,
Yet I remain seated.
After the sweeping away
of spent matinee passions,
There will be another show
(my expectations renewed
I won't remember the ending)

I spoil everything
with words

It always happens, you can admit it.  You are standing in the checkout line at the store and even though you had no intention of doing so, you are reading the headlines that are screaming at you from the tabloids in the racks.   It's a long line and you're bored. You know the ones I mean, The Enquirer, The Star, etc.  Still, although I read the headlines I have no urge to pick one up and read further.  I never read any of them, well, except one.  The Weekly World News.

Now the Weekly World News does not flash Oprah at us or the newest and worst pictures of our favorite celebrities (although we do love those, don't we? the pics where they have their hair disheveled and no makeup and we think:  hey, I Iook better than that!).  No the Weekly World News just has the most interesting and completely incredible stories to tell us.

The new issue's headlines caught my eye.  "RACE OF SCARECROWS LIVING IN KANSAS!" (check back here and you will see why I am partial to this one).  I had to have this issue, I simply had to have it. Especially since it says on the front that this is the world's only reliable newspaper.  It isn't published in color, it is all in black and white so you know it is a serious publication.

Now it seems there was a race of straw men living on this continent long before the Native Americans arrived.  They were very fragile apparently but had amazing ability to imitate bird calls and could scare crows easily.  Hmmm... possibly that is where the name comes from.  This is all according to the diary of one James Smith, who records that these scarecrow men were about six feet tall and wore overalls, plaid shirts and floppy hats.  One day, they all mysteriously disappeared and were replaced with inanimate replicas.  Or perhaps, one day Mr. Smith decided to lay off the peyote.

But I found other interesting articles, the surgeon who performed a heart transplant on himself, the evidence that our moon is used by aliens as a garbage dump (apparently we use it for similiar reasons as they found a World War II bomber plane up there too) and contrary to popular opinion, the startling evidence that Rome WAS built in a day. And I must remember to tell my blogging friend Emma Furlong about the farmer who was eaten alive by his chickens.  She predicted this way before it made the news.

If you want celebrity gossip, you definitely want one of the other tabloids.  But if you want the only reliable news in the world, you must read the Weekly World News.

I came upon her, a child,
nightdress moist with
tears of separation, a waif
orphaned by desire.
Eyes that begged assistance
Hands that busied themselves
with the stones and pebbles
that had been thrown at her
and now lay at her feet.
And with these, the epithets of life
she built a wall.
My hands went to where hers worked
and two building in earnest
I strived to make her safe.
And when we had finished together
she eyed her construction
this wall so sturdy and cold
put a hot cheek against it,
annointing it with her tears.
Then she, turning her face to mine
Uttered her cry:
"Oh, for a pair of hands
to take it down".

She sat high above the ocean on a seat that had been hewn out of the rock by eons of nature's unrelenting forces. Her heart rose in sympathy with each brave assault of the waves on the cliff face, her pain sounded in each mighty crash.  They would win eventually by their tireless pounding, but all their victories would result only in destruction. A somber sky hung over the horizon in mourning for a day that held no promise of light. The wind, like a playful puppy, battered in spurts and kissed her face, nudging its cold, moist nose against her cheek.  The solitude suited her and was yet unbearable, for it was not by choice.  Her eyes searched the sky as if she waited for an omen, some vision to descend.  

She had loved him in spite of herself.  Her instincts had put up warning signs, her experience had sounded its loud voice.  The risks were great and hope did not exist.  She fought her heart at every turn, at every word she knew better than to believe and yet carved a niche for, allowing it to live in her and war against her will.  She had opened the vault to her soul and he had searched deep, collecting treasures no one had ever seen.  He owned parts of her now that she could not retrieve.  The pain of her loss was more than she could express and yet into the morning the wind howled and sounded the cry of her soul. Left asunder, it cried for what was forever lost. She listened to its mournful appeal until in a moment of perfect empathy she followed its cries and gave herself to the sea, descending only to arise again with the waves and pound out her despair against the rocks.

She had wanted to stop for an iced coffee on the way, something to reward her for actually making this appointment, but as it turned out, time was too short to allow a stop.  Even without the steeling effect of the coffee, Amy sat as poised as she could manage in the upholstered chair in the examination room.  With one leg crossed over the other and the light that glinted off the new toe-ring highlighting the pedicure she had treated herself to, she thought she looked composed and cavalier as the doctor whipped out one radiograph after another, placing them against the lighted panel on the wall and saying "yes, there it is" and "hmmm" and other such pronouncements.  She only half heard him when he said words like "progression" and "spinal cord lesion" and was amazed herself that her thoughts were still elsewhere and not on this grim soliliquy.

"This is what I don't want to see in a patient with your condition.  This is the kind of thing that could put you in a wheelchair in five years if you aren't willing to do anything about it".  His admonitions were stern.  He was a believer in "telling it like it is" and was firm in his opinion that her stance of denial was no longer going to serve her well.  She had long lived as if refusing to acknowledge her condition could stave off its effects.

"I don't understand", he said.  "Someone with this kind of problem, who refuses treatments that have a proven history and yet smokes".

"I know,  you don't understand why anyone would refuse accepted treatments and then ingest large quantities of poison daily.  Well, that is just because you haven't known me long enough", she quipped.

The doctor's face didn't show any appreciation of her feeble attempt at humor.  This was one situation where she couldn't fast talk her way out of it.  He was not impressed.  He wore a face of concern and to his credit he noticed the tears welling up in her eyes.  He didn't know her well, for he thought she now cried because of his diagnosis and recommendations, something she was only barely acknowledging.

The physician's voice droned in the background as her mind wandered to other words that were indelibly etched in her memory.  It wasn't as if she had not expected to hear them, she had heard the death rattles coming from that corner for a long time.  Steven hadn't managed to surprise her with his announcement that he was leaving.  It was no surprise but it was no less painful for all her preparation.

When she met Steven she was impressed with his talent as a photographer.  His work was well received and he was not lacking in assignments.  He had been kind in his assessment of her paintings and even asked her to paint something for him. They seemed to have something in common and it naturally led to a relationship. At the beginning it was light and fun, they enjoyed all the same things, their tastes were so similiar she felt for the first time in her life that she had met someone who was capable of understanding her.  She understood him too and his ambitions, though she didn't share them.  His job at the newspaper was not his life goal, she knew that.  She also knew he would do whatever was necessary to achieve.  She wouldn't have been so hurt if only he had been honest with her.

"I can see three or four, yes four new episodes since the last brain study".  She heard the words and thought, that isn't too bad.  It has been ten years, four new areas of damage in ten years sounded like a bargain compared to what might happen in that amount of time.  It was the next words he used that caught her attention.

"And here, there is a black hole", he said.

"Excuse me, a black hole?", she asked.

"That's an area of permanent damage", he explained.

Amy chuckled bitterly. The doctor looked quizzically at her reaction.

 "You have to understand this, that is just so, so... so perfect", she told him.  "That so perfectly fits me it is actually funny.  What area is it in?"

"What area?  Do you mean what does it control?  Memory, concentration, some sensory".

She looked at him suspiciously.  "I have an excellent memory."

"I am not saying it is necessarily causing problems, you asked what that area of the brain controls and I told you."

For a moment she forgot all about being angry with Steven and concentrated on being angry with this man who could so blithely talk about things that were never going to affect him personally. He was trying to scare her, he clearly disapproved of her "hands off" attitude towards her condition for so many years although he grudgingly admitted that she was doing well considering her inattention to it.

"You don't understand", she had told him.  "Up until now, I was winning".

But today she was being told that she wasn't winning any longer, that she couldn't win. Normally, nothing made her more determined than being told she couldn't win. She had spent her life fighting losing battles.  But Steven's timing had taken the fight out of her.  His boss had given him an assignment that took him to San Diego. While out there he had made some connections and through them received an offer from a magazine.  He told her he could not pass it up, it was the opportunity of a lifetime.  She knew that it wasn't really much more prestigious than the job he had at the paper, but it had one fringe benefit.  It gave him an excuse.  Her pride made her pretend to believe, maybe part of her needed to believe that he was sorry to go.  But in her heart she knew he had planned to leave all along. She had entered the doctor's office today, already thoroughly defeated.  She surprised even herself when she nodded mutely at him when he asked if she were ready to give in and try the injections.  She had been fighting too long. It was time to admit she couldn't win.

"I suppose I have no choice", she said as she accepted the tissues from his hand, dabbing at tears that had very little to do with this morning's appointment and everything to do with her disappointment.  Choices were things only others seemed to possess. She left the office with yet another choice taken from her.

She never turned on the radio but drove through the rain in silence, the only sound the one that came from the stripped wiper blade as it scraped and scored the windshield.  She hadn't bothered to have it replaced as the shrieking it made perfectly matched the cry that echoed within her. The employee at the drive thru smiled and called her "honey".  He was sweet and yet she knew he called everyone "honey". So many in the line, so many times he had used that charm.  She asked for sugar in the iced coffee, but still it tasted bitter. 

In the yawning shadows
of a stifling afternoon
in the burnt hours
many and separate
I wait for your voice
to rise above my doubt
until the thin fingers
of a retreating sun
Pull my face to the road
and promises made
But they are my words
I place in your mouth


I never speak of this weight
the pain of invalidation
The bitterness of practicality
The want of inclination
It becomes its own declaration
of non-intent
It spreads across my chest
it lies there
Like the planking covering
an abandoned well
I have written the word
a thousand times, in moments
when I think to live again
But my resolve is like water
it evaporates
in the heat of a moment

This does not mean
I was unwilling
It doesn't mean anything
perhaps, in the scheme
of an eager architect
yet unskilled,
I am just a pillar
Who chooses to stand
Upholding what must fall
with palms outstretched
I cannot even shield my ears
From the nearing thunder of
its final moments

I am drawn by dangerous words
that wander close to the edge
Spoken from hasty emotions
in a moment when
the moment is all
And for you they fade as soon
as they are out of view
But each makes its home
in a heart that loves to puzzle
arranging and rearranging them
until they fall into lines
of a designed belief

This road has its turnings
and when the moment came
you turned from me
I call out to the last, bold
impression of the sun
to hold in the sky for
one more turning
So many revolutions gone
without a favorable season
and the dry and burnt days
wither the tender things
Still I cannot let go
of the fading light

"And now, it is time that I must go".

The Wizard began folding up his stage, packing up the puppets in a trunk.  An enormous wave of fear and sadness washed over me and fell out of my mouth in a panicked voice.

"Where are you going?  Why must you go?  What am I to do now?"

"I have only one thing left to show you.  Walk with me".

We walked for a short time until we reached a place where the brick road that we had traveled for so long suddenly ended.

"This is where your new journey begins", he said.

"How may I journey?", I asked.  "There is no road."

"You must now build a new road.  You have your companions with you now to assist you.  You are not alone on this journey, and when you have all built the road together you will find the place you are meant to be."

"And you will go where?"

"I will be where I am always, in the background, in the shadows, behind the curtain.  You will not see me, but I will have my voice to speak."

"Why must I always be sent on journeys?  They are all safe here, why can they not all stay here?"

"That will not do", was the only reply he made. We walked in silence back to the caravan, but my mind was busy formulating objections and arguments.  I had not wanted to come here, but now I felt I did not want to leave.  

"We will not know which way to go", I said.  "Why do you not come with us?"

"I cannot make this journey for you, it is one you must complete on your own.  You will find what you need in your companions, and soon you will forget about me.  I am only a catalyst, the materials you need to build your road are in your possession now."

He had closed up the stage and placed it on the caravan.  I saw that he intended to go and nothing I said was persuading him otherwise.  

"But where will I be when I reach the end?  Tell me what awaits me so that I may travel in hope."

"Hope is what you will build with, and what you find at the end I cannot say.  These are your dreams that will lead you onward, not mine."

"And will I not see you again?", I asked.  

"I have journeys of my own to make, who knows where they will lead?"  His face was as unreadable as always.

I had a foolish idea to call my companions to help me persuade him and ran to call them to come.  I was no more than a few steps when I realized it was too late.  In an instant, he had gone.  

We camped that night in the spot where the caravan had been, a fire burning in place of the stage.  We set off the next morning, each of us forever changed.  I worked in earnest now, building my road of hope.  The object of that hope remained elusive and unseen. 

"There is but one thing left undone".

  As the Wizard spoke these words he led me to the woman, who sat upon the ground by the stage.  A plate of crumbs and a cup sat beside her on the grass and I realized the Wizard had sent food to her, knowing she would be as hungry as we were but too shy to join us at the table.  The Tin Man had never left her side  but now the Wizard motioned him away and whispered a few words in his still fleshly ear.  The Tin Man now went to the table and sat with the Scarecrow, finally getting his meal.  The Wizard was orchestrating some meeting, I decided.  I was curious about this disguised figure and waited somewhat impatiently now for the revelations the Wizard intended to produce.

"A long time ago", the Wizard began.  "This woman held a treasure.  She had a locket but this was not the treasure.  The treasure was inside the locket."

"What was in the locket?" I asked.

"The key to the treasure, she did not know.  It was the treasure in this locket that made her beautiful, it gave her confidence, it defined her.  As long as she held it, she knew she would be beautiful. But one day, she lost her treasure.  And now, all she wants is for you to give it back."

I shook my head. "I do not know where her treasured locket is.  I only just met her on the road,  I can't be of any help to her."

"The story of her treasure is one of thievery and despair", the Wizard explained. "She had it in her hand one day, a broken chain had occasioned a trip to have it repaired.  It was a long journey to the jeweler, a hot and thirsty trip.  She came upon a clean pool of water by a fresh spring.  Leaning over to have a drink, a face looking back at her startled her and she dropped the locket into the pool."

The woman held her shroud tightly around her and her hands trembled as the wizard spoke out her story.  It was as if each word was a dagger, her shoulders moved convulsively to the sound of his voice.  He gently placed his hand over her hand, the one with whited knuckles that gripped the material over her face and then he continued. He sounded out each word like sustained notes from a cello, a mournful reverberation.

"She reached in over and over and searched for it but it could not be found, the face that had frightened her had disappeared into the swirling water and taken her treasure. She has hidden everything since that time, for fear of what could be taken if it were revealed."

"Then what the peddler said was untrue, I did not take her treasure", I protested.  "Looking into water one would only see..."

A strange thought struck me now.  This woman had followed me here, thinking I had her lost treasure.  But why did she think that?  Impulsively I approached the woman and commanded her to rise to her feet.  I was surprised when she followed my order and stood before me.

"If I have taken something from you, I am sorry". I began.  "If I have buried it in unseen depths, I will help you find it.  We could search for it together.  But if we are to work together, I must see you.  We must know each other."

Trembling fingers grasped the hood of her shroud by the edges and pulled it back letting it fall in ripples of material around her neck.  I looked upon the woman's face but it was not for the first time.  I felt no surprise at all to see myself looking back at me through her eyes.

"The correct question is" the Wizard advised.  "What do you want to do about it?"

This was really more than I could bear.  I had been hijacked, kidnapped, made to travel through a strange place looking for this even stranger man and now he asked what I wanted?  Suddenly, I felt a surge of myself return and I turned to him with a sarcastic expression.

"Oh wise Prospero, master manipulator and wizard, what is it that you have decreed I must do about it?  It is you and not I, after all, who is in control.  I wouldn't dare make a move without your consent and advice."

To my surprise the Wizard greeted my statement with laughter.  I expected anger, perhaps even invited it. Instead he reacted with amusement at my annoyance and this angered me even more.

"A little lunch seems to have done you some good", he said.  "Perhaps there was a tempest in that teapot", he added with a wink.  

At that I laughed in spite of myself. An imposing figure this wizard was not.  I had judged him haughty in the beginning, his accusations stung me.   Perhaps I was feeling a little better for having eaten.  Or perhaps it was what he did next that made me see him in a different light.

He produced a bound book and a pen and handing them to the scarecrow said "My friend, this is for you.   It is no good your having your thoughts scattered about you.  I want you to write them here, in this book.  We'll have no more of loose thoughts hanging out all over.  Put them here on these pages and when you have filled the book then we shall all have a read."

The scarecrow's face filled with delight as he fingered the crisp, blank sheets of the book.
He greedily took the pen in hand.

"This is the nicest gift I ever received", he said, smiling up at the wizard.  "In fact, I think it is the only gift I have ever received.  I must write that down".

 Immediately he began to write in his gift. Occasionally he would stop and tap the tip of the pen against his chin, then having more inspiration he would begin to write again. I was amazed at the way the Wizard seemed to handle the boys.  They listened to his every word and obeyed his commands, which I will admit were given with a soft voice that conveyed a certain concern and care.  The wizard rose from the table and extended a hand.

"Come my dear", he invited.  "We have more business to attend to".

My fear and distrust dissipated, I took his hand and rose to accompany him, this time without demanding an explanation.  

I was likely weakened by the journey and the events of this day.  I must have fainted, because when I came to I was lying on the ground and the Wizard and the scarecrow were standing over me.  The scarecrow, the dear thing,  was fanning me with his hat and the Wizard was assuring him that I would revive.  I tried to sit up and became dizzy, the caravan appeared to move in chase of the stage, and increased in speed as I turned my head.

The Wizard taking my hand said "I think you need a little something to eat, and you will be fine.  It's been a busy day.  Come over here, I have some tea and sandwiches prepared."

He led me to a table, perfectly accoutred with lace tablecloth and linen napkins.  There were three settings laid. I gave the Wizard a questioning look.

"Why only three"?

"The tin man doesn't wish to join us", he answered.  And indeed the tin man stood like a bodyguard next to the woman who was still kneeling on the ground by the stage.  "Please", he said.  "Take a seat."  He held a chair out for me and with a flourish he dusted the seat off with a hankerchief.  For a moment, he seemed to be the showman again.

I sat and let him hold my chair.  He took a seat opposite me, and motioned the scarecrow to take the remaining chair.  "Shall I pour?" asked the scarecrow, picking up the teapot.  I had to smile, he seemed at ease wherever he was and yet I knew he also felt at odds at the same time.  Directionless he had called himself.  The word suddenly struck at something deep within me and I became suspicious and afraid. My hunger overriding my curiosity, I greedily partook of the sandwiches and tea.  It was the first real meal I had eaten since my arrival. When I had eaten enough to feel satiated, I turned to my host.

"And what is it I have done to him?" I asked sarcastically, nodding my head in the direction of the scarecrow.

To my surprise, the Wizard smiled at me and winked.

"You are catching onto me already", he said.  "I knew you were clever."  He leaned over the table his hand to the side of his mouth, concealing it from the scarecrow.
"Why don't you tell me?" he said with a grin.

"Well, let me see", I ventured. "He is full of wonderful thoughts, but all of them unfinished.  I suppose I have somehow kept him from completing things."

"Good, good", encouraged the Wizard.  "Go on, you're getting it now."

"Let me think, how have I done this? Have I quashed his enthusiasm?  No, see he is very enthusiastic."  I looked at the Wizard's face for any sign I was right.

"I have not completed things myself",  I said.  "I have started many projects and not seen them through."

"Is that all?" asked the Wizard.  "Is there nothing else? Is it only your projects and tasks you have not brought to completion? What of your dreams and desires? Is there nothing else missing an ending?"

His words became my tears; they grew heavy and escaping the corners of my eyes, they burned as they rolled silently down my cheek.

"No", I dropped my head forward to hide my sorrow and shook my head slowly. "No, that isn't all that is incomplete."

The Wizard took my chin in his hand and lifting my face to look into his eyes, spoke softly.

"See, how happy he is.  He worries not because he has no endings, everything is still open to him.  He contains the beginnings of many great things; your thoughts, plans, hopes and dreams.  Still he is directionless because you refuse to follow them through out of fear of the endings.  He has never known failure, this is true.  But he has never known success either."

"I can't promise him success", I protested.  "It is much easier not to try than to fail."

"It is not easy to never succeed at anything", the Wizard countered. "It has not been easy for you.  That is why you have left him here.  He is your reminder.  But when you abandon him, you abandon possibilities."

The scarecrow was listening to all this, scribbling notes on scraps of paper and stuffing them into his pockets.

"What is it then that you want me to do?" As soon as I had asked the question came the fear that I already knew the answer.

The wizard folded his napkin with a slow precision and placed it on the table aside his plate.  When he finally turned his attention back to me his face held a look I hadn't seen on it before.  It was akin to sadness and weary.  

"Alas,my dear,you ask the wrong question." he sighed. "All of this and yet still you do not understand."

"To save me?  You are going to save me?", I shouted at the Wizard in anger and disbelief. "What makes you think I am in need of saving? I think you overstep here, yes, I think you overstep.  I am not in need of saving, except perhaps, from you."

"I am sure you may have good reason to think so, at the end of our time together", the Wizard said. "You may also decide not to listen to my advice. But do you not think at all of your companions who have journeyed with you?" he asked, unruffled by my ire.  "Have you no concern for their needs?"

The Wizard moved to stand by the tin man and placing one hand upon his shoulder, rapped on his chest with the other hand as if he knocked at a door.

"See here", he continued.  "The tin man, a man of wounds deep and lasting.  You have shielded him from injury but refused him love.  He has sought acceptance but instead of allowing his vulnerability, you have made him hard and cold.  You have given him this armor for survival but his heart dies within him."

My head was swimming now as I tried to fathom his words.  The Wizard  regarded me with a steady gaze, he never wavered.  His voice did not rise as he laid these charges against me, rather it was soft and consoling.  I felt then as if I would faint but somehow, my feet stayed beneath me.

"Do you not recognize him yet, my dear?" he asked.  "Look at him carefully, see beneath the armor to discover what he truly is."

The Tin Man looked at me, his eyes large and imploring.  The great sadness that was always present seemed to increase as the Wizard sought to reveal him.

"Do you see now?" continued the Wizard.  "I have watched your brave knight stand before you, his axe at the ready, his armor for your shield.  He has stopped many arrows and attacks. He has kept you safely behind him, but his armor has prevented more than pain.  He has not allowed anyone close to you, nor to himself.  He has kept these wounds far from you and in return he has lost much.  I have seen what you have lost as well.  The question you must answer for yourself is this:  Are you ready to reclaim it?"

"You are saying, I have done this?" I asked the question but the answer to it began to form even as it escaped my lips.  Yes, I knew this construction of metal and armor.  Yes, I recognized him.  He had walked with me all the days of my life.  My knight of battle, how wounded yet strong.  I cried now, as I thought of what was denied him in exchange for his bravery.  He stood, watching this exchange between the wizard and myself.  I ran to him and embraced him.  "I'm sorry", I whispered in his ear. "I am so sorry".

"It is I who am sorry, milady" he answered.  "I could not protect you, although I tried."

The Wizard looked at me, unsmiling but without anger.  He tapped the tin man on the shoulder.  "Wait here, we have need of you still."  The tin man stood, appearing exactly as he had when we had met him on the road.  He obeyed the Wizard without question, standing at attention as any good soldier would do when given a command.  

I stood as still as the tin man, but trembled within.  The Wizard gave me a knowing look.  I felt both pain and relief at his understanding.  I also feared what may yet become of our encounter.

I stood in front of the stage, flanked by the tin man and the scarecrow.  The woman was a few feet from us, hunkered down with her hood pulled tightly around her face, as if she were still hidden and watching in secret.  The lure of the show had drawn her closer to us than she had ever been, but still I did not catch more of a glimpse of her than her eyes, liquid blue and haunting.  

It was a puppet show. Across the small stage a figure moved in hesitating starts and stops.  Two other figures appeared at opposite sides and were still.   I recognized them as my companions and the woman who followed us but would not join us.  None of the characters spoke. I drew closer to the stage and as I did, a fourth puppet entered.  It was a man in a jacket and ruffled shirt.  "The peddler", I exclaimed.

"A show", said the scarecrow.  "How nice".  He sat upon the ground and stared up at the stage like a child, entranced.

There was no dialogue, the peddler moved about from figure to figure stopping at the likeness of the woman and only then did he suddenly speak.  

"I have seen your treasure, and the one who holds it.  I will bring the keeper of your treasure to you, do not despair."

The woman, the real one, huddled as she was on the ground, sobbed quietly as the show played out before us.  The likeness of the peddler stood in the middle of the stage now, addressing the audience.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the story of three is actually the story of one.  There is magic afoot, amazing and mysterious.  You have watched as an observer but you must participate if the magician is to succeed.  Are you prepared"?

The tin man and the scarecrow shouted "Yes" and clapped their hands, the woman sat upon the ground, her hands busying themselves, wringing one over another.

"Where is the magician?" I called out.  "Where is the Wizard?"

"Patience, my friend, patience", was the answer from the stage.  "The hurry you are in hinders your understanding."

"I didn't come all this way to talk to a puppet", I raged.  "I want to know now why I was brought here."

"You will remember sir, when we last spoke", the peddler puppet prodded. "I told you then of your purpose."

"Okay, that's another thing, you keep calling me sir, why do you do that?" I asked him, feeling slightly irritated with his side-stepping.  I had wondered why he called me "sir" that day on the street, but I never asked. I suppose most women would have been affronted to be addressed so, as if mistaken for a man, but I ignored it as an affectation.  His words caused enough unrest and I thought only to get away from him.  I realized why now the peddler had caught my attention that day and why he was here now.  Before I had ever seen him, I knew him. Before he spoke I understood.  He had seen more than he had been shown, and I feared him for that reason.  He revealed now his understanding.

"That was your idea", he replied. If it were possible for a puppet to grin, he would have grinned when he said it, but his voice held sarcasm. "You are the one who has made your persona, you have chosen.  And in so doing you have left her deserted and alone."  He pointed to the puppet of the woman.

"I have never even met her before."

"You won't meet her, you mean.  Yet, you have taken something from her and you refuse to give it back."  The puppet raised one hand accusingly.  "You are responsible for her mourning. "

"What have I taken from her? How have I done this?" I waved my hand at the woman, who was on her knees, face groundward, sobbing.  "How am I responsible for this?"

"You took her beauty from her, you stole from her the right of every woman to be beautiful to her inner eye.  You gave her only ugliness and sorrow, you robbed her of her vision.  See how she hides her face.  She is unable to bring herself to show it, she is convinced of its imperfection.  All because you selfishly made her hide it, told her to keep it hidden lest your belief in her beauty betrayed you."

 An anger rose inside me, was all that I had been through only to bring me in for accusations?
Was I now to be called robber and thief?

"Am I here to be tried for some crime?" I cried out.  "Are my crimes so great?"

The puppet of the peddler crumbled to the stage as the hand that animated him relinquished its grasp.  I heard another voice, like the peddler's but steadier, the showmanship gone out of it, as a man stepped from behind the curtain.

In physical appearance he was the peddler but his garb was different, more subtle.  Gone were the ruffled shirt and jacket with the oversized lapels, replaced with a plain dark suit, old fashioned but it looked neat and new.  There was no trace of the glib salesman now, the voice that hawked wares and told fortunes.  Instead his voice was slow and determined.

"I have brought you here to save you, not to punish you", spoke the Wizard.

She did follow us, just as before.  The rest of the troupe was falling into an easy camaraderie, enoying the trip and each other.  The scarecrow sang his snatches of songs. The tin man told stories that made us weep, tales of battles and scars.  I kept my eye on the shadowy figure that flitted into view here and there.  For some reason I wanted to be sure she kept up.  There was something she was missing too and I felt a need to help her find it.   Occasionally, I read the words written on the road, and floods of tears rose up threatening to break loose upon me.  I realized now that I walked at an ever-slowing pace.  I didn't want to meet the wizard anymore. A fear I could not put a name to walked beside me.  I sang along with the scarecrow to drown out its whispers.

After only a few hours, I suggested we stop and rest for a while.  The boys were unwilling to lose travel time, they had developed an anticipation of the possibilities a wizard might signify.  My suggestion met with much opposition and getting agreement on only a short break to find lunch, we soon moved on again. The sanguine attitudes of my formerly morose companions irked me somehow now; they could not see what I saw, they did not read the words on the road.  I took each step now with a strange heaviness and foreboding. The sky in sympathy dressed itself in dark clouds and a slate edging ran along the horizon. Still we walked on.

We were running out of woods.  The trees were thinning every yard.  I tried not to look too often at the hooded figure that attempted to shield herself from view with what was left of the disappearing forest.  She fought a losing battle and soon there was nothing to hide behind.  I quietly instructed the boys not to look at her, to pretend she was still invisible to us.  We studiously avoided the view and she for her part, acted very much as if the camouflage was still there, ducking and stopping, furtively peeking out from her hood and then continuing.  It seemed almost indecent to sneak even a sideways glance, her pain at her exposure was so clear.

It was then that the road culminated in a T-intersection, running off to the left and right but straight ahead it stopped completely.  This had not happened before at any point along the road, but it was not this that struck my eye.  At the end of the road stood a canvas covered caravan and beside it a tiny theatre, a minature stage with a black curtain backdrop. Emblazoned on the canvas was a bold advertisement: "Prospero - Seer, Magician & Wizard Extraordinaire".  And although there was no audience, a show was being played out on the stage.

The road went on and on and we saw  nothing that seemed a likely place to find a wizard,  We walked until evening and as the waning light made it difficult to travel and as we were all growing weary, we stopped and made a makeshift camp in a clearing at the edge of the woods that now lined the road.  I slept deeply although I was unused to sleeping on hard ground. I had always dreamed in black and white before.  Dreams came to me in vivid colors now, but they were all tinged with tragedy of a sort I could not express.  

A sliver of light cut a swath through the branches and landing on my forehead  burned into it until the searing woke me.  I called to the  others to get up so that we could get an early start on our journey although I had not been given even a map for my destination, let alone a timetable.  The truth is I was tired of the journey and was not even sure why I was making it.  "And just how long will I have to walk before I find this wizard?" I asked aloud.  An answering voice in my head reminded me "you will find him when you need him".  

The tin man and the scarecrow had gone off in search of food while I made sure what was left of our little campfire was well out and no longer smouldering.  I heard a rustle to my right and my eye caught the impression of movement.  I assumed it was one of my two friends returning but no one emerged.  For several days I had experienced these fleeting moments where I thought I saw something watching us from hidden points beside the road.  The road went through areas of increasing vegetation and forest and I decided that the shadows were playing tricks on my eyes.  
But then again, a brief image of something flitting behind the trees caught my eye and I stopped this time and stared to try to catch a better look.

A shadowed figure moved through a pillar of light that streamed between the trees and I called out "who's there?" It seemed to hesitate then in a quick movement was gone before I could reach the spot where ithad stood, watching me.  

It was at that moment the boys returned (I had taken to calling them "the boys" as they seemed to act like brothers almost and my heart was glad to see the tin man find a companion finally).  They had found some apples and berries and proudly showed me the "fruits" of their labors.  I suddenly felt like the head of a family and wondered how I had become responsible for two such odd creatures.  I had no idea where they would go or what I would do with them when our journey ended but now I was happy to think that they might at least, have each other.

"Look", I said.  "Someone or something is following us.  I wasn't sure before but now I realize that it has been following us for days.  I don't know who or what it is or why it follows us, but if you see anything at all, you must tell me right away."

"Why should anyone follow us?", asked the scarecrow.  "We don't even know where we are going."  The tin man nodded his agreement and I myself was perplexed, but worried.

After a little breakfast supplied by my two friends we started on our way.  I was the only one who felt any sense of urgency as they viewed the entire thing as some great adventure and any journey was better than the stagnation they lived in previously.  We had walked about an hour listening to the scarecrow sing some song to which he didn't know all the words (naturally) when I again sensed someone watching us from the woods.

"Listen, that person who is following us is over there".  I said this with a carefree smile on my face and cautioned my companions to not look in that direction.  "I want whoever it is to think they are not noticed.  Not yet, anyway."

The scarecrow and I made a strange looking pair walking along.  I found it passed the time pleasantly enough to listen to him read off stray thoughts as he plucked a strip of paper here and a scrap of paper there.  At first I was concerned he might undo himself entirely but there appeared to be an endless supply of unfinished thoughts and so I learned to just relax and enjoy the exercise they gave my mind.

As we travelled, my raggedy companion and I, the landscape began to change and we came upon a thickly forested area just as a burst of rain began. We headed under some nearby trees that were heavily foliated to escape the sudden drenching.

It ended quickly enough and we began to emerge from our leafy shelter.  I caught my foot on a tree root and went sprawling to the ground.  My left hand plowed a muddy rut but my right hand hit something cold and hard.  I would have thought it to be a rock if it were not for the strange noise that rang out and when I looked it was shiny like steel and smooth.  Clearing away the branches of some low-growing brush, I saw it was a foot. As my eyes traveled upward it became apparent that the foot led to a leg, which led to a torso, which led to a head, and all was made of metal.

“Here, come have a look at this”, I called to my new friend.

The scarecrow was busily removing a layer of damp paper where the rain had caused the ink to run.  He came over and stood by me, staring as I was at the strange sight before us.

“What is it?” he asked.  “A suit of armor?”

“I don’t know, it looks like a man made entirely of tin.  I don’t think it is a suit.”

“I don’t know what it is either”, offered the scarecrow.  “But it is making noise.”

He was right, just the slightest squeaking emanated from the head and was audible amongst the sound of water dripping from the trees.  

The scarecrow came over and stood on the other side of the man, and we both tilted our ears towards him as the squeaking continued. The creature was trying to communicate with us, but none of the sound made any sense.  The scarecrow who exhibited much more intelligence than he professed to possess, had already determined what the man was saying and started rummaging about the shrubs until he found the item the creature had been calling for.

"This is what he wants" he stated, handing me an oil can.

"Where did you find that?", I asked him.

"It was lying over there with an axe and a bag", he said. "I started to think about how dangerous rust would be to a tin man and wondered how one would counter that danger.  It seemed likely that he would carry an oil can for maintenance."

"Yes", I agreed. "That does seem logical." I did not point out to him that he had thought of that all by himself.

“Ah, so this is what you were trying to tell me?" I smiled apologetically at the frozen man in front of me. "So sorry, I can only imagine how frustrating that must be.” I quickly oiled the man’s mouth and after a few screeching scrapes of metal against metal, the joint of his jaw began to move smoothly and he was able to speak.

 “I thought I would be standing there forever until you happened along. Of course it may have been for the best”, were the words the tin man first uttered. I quickly went about the task of oiling the joints of his limbs, freeing him from his immobilization.

“How did you get into such a state to begin with?” asked the scarecrow.  

“Well, it was a strange set of circumstances and a very long story” he began.  “But my life has been one of battle always."

"When I was born, I had a twin brother who came forth stillborn.  His cord was wrapped around his neck and around my left foot.  It strangulated him and it also caused my foot to be very deformed.  In fact, the blood supply was compromised in such a way that the entire foot became gangrenous and had to be amputated.  When I was older, my father had the tinsmith fashion me a prostethic foot out of tin, so that I would be able to walk. He had the idea that a tin foot would last me longer than a wooden one. That was the beginning of it."

"My mother died of complications giving birth to us and my father never got over it", he continued.  "When I was ten years old, he left me with my mother's older sister and joined the crew of a sailing ship.  I never saw him again."

"My aunt was a spinster and unused to the ways of children and so there was no play and all chores.  I don't blame her that she could not love a child she blamed for the death of her sister and found a burden she did not ask for. It was a lonely life and I often thought of the brother I might have had and how he was meant to be my life companion.The other children found me freakish and a target for their cruel remarks.  I could not keep up with them in games and so did not attempt to cultivate their company but spent my days alone in the woods. I learned to wield an axe well, and was able to make some money selling firewood to the villagers. One day while felling a tree, I misjudged the angle of my cuts into the trunk and it fell in the wrong direction coming down at me instead of away from me.  I escaped but my left arm was trapped underneath and crushed.  The tinsmith was again called to repair me."

"When I was of age, I turned over to my aunt a tidy sum I had saved of my earnings to repay her for her care and joined the army. My life had already been one of many battles and this seemed to be a natural move. Through the years I suffered more than one disfiguring wound.  Wherever I suffered injury, the flesh was replaced with tin until after many years, I had become tin from head to toe.  However, there was one thing that was irreplaceable.  My heart.”

“A heart”, he continued, “is one of those things that once damaged is very hard to mend. The tinsmith was not up to the task I am afraid. These plates of tin that saved me also made me cold and rigid.  I found I did not have much communion with others who viewed me as a freak and heartless.  So with my axe in hand, I returned to the woods.  Unfortunately, before I could build myself a shelter a rainy period began that lasted several days, and you have witnessed the resultant rusting.”

Something like a sigh came from him and as he spoke, he turned his head.  I got the impression that it was so that we might not see him weep and yet there were no tears. “That was many years ago, I cannot say how many now.”  

I am not certain how it was that the tin man fell in with us on our trip.  It may have been his lack of company for so long that led him to agree rather more quickly than he normally would have to my suggestion he accompany us.  It may have been that the mention of a wizard made him think of magic and magical cures.  However it was, I know that for several hours we walked in silence, the heaviness within him weighing on us more than the weight of his construction could ever impede his gait.

After traveling some distance over rolling hills I came upon a crossroads where the road went off in several directions.  I paused, puzzled by the different avenues.  To the right were words from unfinished poems, to the left, the road seemed to be made up of lines from short stories I had started but abandoned when I lost belief in the idea.  Standing with my hand to my chin, I thought aloud. “Which way am I supposed to go?”

“That has always been your question”, a voice answered.  “The answer is, and always has been, that you can go both ways but you will always love one better than the other.”

At the sound of another voice I snapped my head around quickly.  I saw no one, just flowers to my left and a small cornfield to my right.  I had seen no other living creature except the occasional bird in the sky since I began on this road.  Who had planted a cornfield?

“Who said that?” I demanded in a loud voice.  

“Why, I did”, the voice answered.

Standing in the middle of the cornfield was a man, dressed all in rags.  Shredded paper protruded from the cuffs of his shirt and the tops of his boots.  More shredded paper poked through holes in his hat and the worn knees of his pants. He ambled towards me with a stumbling and gawky gait.

“Who are you, and what do you mean I will love one better than the other?  Which one?”

“I am just a scarecrow, set here to keep the crows from the corn", he answered. “I don’t do very well at it; and I don’t know what that means.  I think it was written on one of these strips of paper I am made of.”

As he spoke, he pulled a strip of paper that stuck out at his wrist.  He read it with a blank look on his face, crumpled it up and tossed it behind him, shaking his head.

 “Nope. I don’t know what anything of it means; I am not smart enough to think it through. I guess that is why they are all just scraps.  Nothing much written on any of them. I suppose I just never finished a thought.”

“Why do you stand here?" None of this made any sense to me.  "I don’t see any crows.  I don’t even see any people.  Who planted the corn anyway?”

“Come to think of it, I have never seen any people either.  No idea who planted the corn.  I did see a crow once, but I can’t remember when that was.”

“Then why do you stand here?” I asked.  

“I’m not sure”, he said, scratching his head. “Where else would I go?”

“You could go anyplace you wanted to, just make up your mind and go”.

“Well, that is the problem, you see.  I can’t make up my mind. Why do you think I have all these unfinished thoughts hanging out all over the place?” He pulled at a few of the scraps of paper hanging from various openings in his clothing. “Which way are you going?" he asked brightly. "I could go with you.”

He was a strange character but he seemed harmless, and I admit I was a more than a little happy at the thought of some company; at least he would be someone to talk to.  I decided it wouldn’t do any harm to invite him along, at least for now.

“Well, I have to go see some Wizard guy”, I said.  “Apparently I have to follow this road, but see here it has gone off in two different directions and I don’t know which is the right way.  But you’re welcome to come along, if you feel like it.”

“I don’t mind if I do”, he smiled as he said it.  “As I said, I don’t know very much and I am not clever about things, but I don’t see why we oughtn’t to just go that way.”  He twirled around with an outstretched arm and closed eyes and when he stopped we headed down the path his arm pointed to.  Since I had no idea where I was going, this seemed as good a plan as any and I was glad to have someone else to blame it on should it turn out to be the wrong way after all.

The scarecrow and I walked on for some time and I found him to be excellent company.  He found us some fruit and berries along the path and so we had some sustenance.  Occasionally he would pull a strip of paper off of his body and read it aloud. It was true that most of the thoughts seemed unfinished but they were interesting ones nonetheless.  A few of them sounded familiar somehow.  I wasn’t sure I agreed with his self-assessment.  It appeared to me that he was much more intelligent than he gave himself credit for. At least he knew how to find food.

As we journeyed I told my new companion of the world from which I had come and the method of my arrival in this place.  I left out the part about the peddler, as strange as all of this was, to me that seemed to be the strangest part of it.  I was on a journey to find a wizard and until I did, I wouldn’t know why I was here or how to leave again.  

“Well, I can’t say I understand it”, the scarecrow said.  “But I don’t mind going along with you.  I am pretty directionless as you can see.”  Once again he pointed to his overflow of bits of paper.

“I don’t know about that”, I replied.  “It sounded to me like you have some good ideas in you, your thoughts are very interesting.  You just have to finish them, that’s all.”

He gave a small nod of resignation, pulled a strip of paper off himself, read it and tossed it aside.

“Nope.  It definitely won’t be that one that I finish first.”

I chuckled and hoped it didn’t make me look unfeeling to his plight.  He was so pleasant and amusing that I no longer cared if he finished a thought or even a sentence.  I was that glad not to be alone on this strange road.

I awoke with a tremendous headache.  The kind that makes you hold your hand to the back of your head to keep it from coming off.  The kind that reverberates as if you just struck your unprotected cranium against a cement block.  I struggled to focus my eyes and orient myself.  The image of the peddler came to my mind  and I remembered the storm. But nothing else.

I blinked my eyes once and then again.  The images coming through them were confusing.  I was lying by a road, a strange looking road that began in a concentric circle.  Everything was strange looking, yet pleasant. No, it was more than pleasant, it was exciting, enticing, inciting to the senses.  The grass was so different from the sky, both vibrant and dazzling. Nothing blended one into another but with differing hues carved strict delineations. The road was the same shade as the light that struck the treetops and the sun blazing in the sky.  I forgot my headache for a moment and stared straight into the sky, the light mesmerizing me with its brilliance until a white ball formed in front of me and floated in my field of view.  Too much light, I have damaged my eyes I thought. Then in a flash, the ball of light exploded into a million streaks and there emerged a human figure in the midst of it.

The figure moved closer, it floated more than walked and as it approached I saw it was a woman.

She was clothed in layers of the sky, flowing behind her as she floated towards me.  Her hair was brilliant and shining like the light that she emerged from and it hung about her in long tresses that reached the hem of her dress.  She came within inches of me before she stopped; and when she spoke, her voice was like the music of angels.

“Welcome, we have been waiting for you”, she said. A chorus of voices rang out from around me.  They chanted, “Yes, yes”.

I was unable to speak and would not have known what to say if I had been able.  I wondered about the identity of this creature and as the question formed in my mind, she spoke as if she were answering my thoughts. 

“I am your muse.  Do not look at me strangely for I am always with you, although you do not always see me or hear my voice.  Those” she said, waving a tapered hand around in a wide circle “are those who await what lies within you”.  I saw nothing but again a chorus of voices chanted in the affirmative. “Yes, yes, waiting.”

“What is this place?” I asked, finally managing to speak.

“Come here”, she answered, “and I will show you”.

She motioned me to the center of the circle of the road, a long, delicate finger pointing to the beginning.  “See there, what is written”.

I had to kneel to read the tiny inscription, which began at the center and spread out around and around growing larger as it continued.

            I

             sleep

              only to

               invite half-broken

               dreams of you (and me)

             always Leaving doors ajar

           Keeping the darkness incomplete

         Shouting down the imperfect silence

“I…I don’t understand”, I said.  “I wrote this.”

“Yes, you did.  You have written much when I have come to you, but you hide it from others and even yourself.  You bury your words in notebooks and papers under the bed, continuing to live in indistinguishable dreariness, as is everything in your world.  Yet, this road is paved with your words, it is they that have created this world and brought it to life.  It is here you must make your journey, along this road.”

I traced the words imprinted on the bricks with my finger and memory flooded over me as I read the poem, long forgotten but now alive and forcing its emotions back into my consciousness.

“It is time you made your start”, she continued.  “The Wizard is waiting for you.”

“The Wizard? Who is the Wizard?” I turned quickly to look at this apparition and the throbbing in my skull intensified.  I began to wonder if I had fallen and hit my head, if this hallucination was the result of a closed head injury.

“It is he who brought you here.  Follow your road, it will lead you to him.”

“What if I don’t want to meet him?  What if I just want to leave?” I demanded.                                                                

“Oh my, it is much too late for that and you know it”, she said with a little laugh. “You have seen the colors you have created and your road is set. Make a start, here.  Follow on, you will find him when you need him.”

At this she gave a little wink and her brilliance compressed into a little speck, the light falling in upon itself until she finally disappeared.

I found myself alone and in a strange place, the only familiar things were my writings imprinted upon the bricks of the road that lay around and before me. It seemed the only thing I could do was to follow them.  Certainly there was nothing to do here, no one to inquire of and definitely no food.  In fact there was nothing around but blue sky and grass and trees and this impossibly designed yellow road. 

It ran in the beginning circle for only a short time and then spread out long and wide before me.  The sun never ceased to shine as I walked.  Soon the expanses of green fields gave way to lush bursts of flowers in such brilliant hues and shadings that I lingered here and there to admire them.  But after tarrying a few moments, the pull of the distance led me onward; it was unknown but must be conquered. 

That day started the same as any other.  I awoke in a familiar, quiet, and muted world.  There are a lot of things to be said for a black and white world, I was always pretty happy there.  Picking out clothes, for instance is a snap; everything goes with everything.  I think I looked younger then too.  But that was before my fateful trip, before my world disappeared in a maelstrom, before I met the Wizard.

I was on my way to take the dog to the vet for his shots.  It was a nice stroll through town; the sky was a smooth, clear grey as always.  It was then that I saw him for the first time.  He had a little stand set up on a corner, peddling some wares, handing out some pamphlets and telling fortunes for a small fee.  I watched as most passed by him, throwing disapproving looks.  A couple of elderly ladies with their shopping bags clucked and shook their heads as they walked by, obviously unhappy with his appearance on their neat and staid streets.  They walked until their delicately shaded forms blended in with the background and disappeared entirely. 

The man intrigued me and I stopped to listen.  He intrigued me from his ruffled shirt and old fashioned suit with the wide striped lapels to the amazing sleight of hand he displayed as he shuffled a deck of cards, inviting passing pedestrians to test him at his extra sensory skills. I watched him and I noticed him watching me.   I decided to slap down four bits and let him read my fortune.  He smiled like a Cheshire cat; it was what he had been waiting for.

"You sir, will know that what I say is true", he started.  "There are stories inside you waiting to be born, great adventures you secretly dream of, a journey you have been afraid to start".

I looked at him with as blank a face as I could muster.  He spoke in a low and unhurried tone, as if he were casting a spell. 

"There is a place beyond here, sir.  A place you will find yourself at the end of a great storm, and there you will find your journey".

I mumbled a "thank you" or something similar.  “I have an appointment to keep”. I started to walk away, backwards at first, then turned and increased the speed of my gait as if I were rushing to get away from him. The truth was that his words disturbed me. They echoed in deep places within though I tried to shake them off.  He called after me, my figure already beginning to disappear into the sameness: "Do not be afraid, you will find friends to make the journey with you".

I hurried down the street to the vet's, my small dog under my arm.  The sky was darkening and the clouds were no longer white but slate in the sky.  I dropped the dog off and stepped back out into the street just as the sky opened up.  The rain fell in drops so large and heavy that they kicked up dust clouds wherever they landed and the drumming on the awning overhead was as loud as if a bucket of pebbles were being emptied onto it. But the sky was the strange thing, the wind picked up and nearly carried my feet, the clouds swirling into a close dancing embrace.

I still thought I would make it home when the wind, pushing under my heels elevated me right off the ground.