Sunday Scribblings--Turtles, Books, Dreams--a fairy story

Last night, a woman fell asleep after weeping with despair. A passing raven heard her sighs and was moved as he was never before. After a quick flight around the towers of the city to clear his head, he grumped back to the other ravens and the Great Spirit of the Forest. They agreed with him, so he returned to the woman’s window and sang a dream to her.


And this is what she dreamt.

A young girl sat weeping in a castle room with a spire reaching to the tops of the sky. The walls were lined with bookshelves groaning with books of all shapes and sizes and topics and kinds. Books to tantalize even the most inveterate book loather. And our young girl was anything but. On the contrary, she loved them heart full to bursting. But...the books did not love her back. She tried everything to honor them—created altars to their majesty and wisdom, slept with them under her pillow, danced with them in the sunlit morning, even snuck up on them. But, it could not be helped. Every time she opened one of the books, she read the first sentence, eyes thirsty and greedy, and...that’s all she could read. The words would begin to jumble up, the letters would scatter like raindrops spattering on a windshield. And the book’s wonderful contents would remain forever just out of her reach.

She tried to console herself, say that it was obviously meant to be this way, for her. That she was doomed to be a collector of first sentences, read over and over, and nothing more. She told herself to be contented with this, reminded herself that at least she had her health, her pet cat and pet turtle. But something rankled, something greedy and lava-hot inside of her, and one day she could take no more.

So the young girl called upon her Kitty (her favorite pet) to investigate. Late one night, after the young girl had gone to bed and dreams, Kitty crept closer to the books and opened one with a poke of her paws. Soon enough, the words and letters began their crazy chaotic dance. Kitty was quite enchanted as she watched the alphabetic ballet, and forgot all about the young girl’s desires.

The following morning Kitty confessed, sheepish, that she was no nearer to solving the mystery.

Our young girl was vexed and despairing.

“I can try.” Said Turtle. But Turtle was so slow, could the young girl wait that long to feed her literary hunger?

“You’ll be older either way.” Replied Turtle complacently. “Time does carry on so.”

Well, our young girl couldn’t argue with THAT, so that very night, Turtle crawled to the edge of the room and hunkered down with a half dozen open books. And of course, soon the words swirled and danced and swooped. But Turtle only watched. The movements grew frantic. Turtle watched. The movements grew slower, and slower, and slower. And Turtle watched.

And finally the words stopped.



And they weren’t words at all.

“So, you’ve found us out.” A thousand sad little voices chorused. “What will you do now?”

For the dancing words were actually little ants, black ants who chose to celebrate on the page every day, and to have a little fun at the young girl’s expense.

The Turtle turned away from them, satisfied, and slowly crawled back to her rock.

Our young girl woke up feeling hopeful, like something had shifted in the night. She asked Turtle, “So, so, so....? What is it?”

Turtle said, “I know the way to your heart’s desire now.”

“Yes, yes...?”

“You need to drop the next book you want to read on the floor.”

The young girl was horrified. “Drop it? On the floor? But...no! I love books...how could I treat them thus?”

But all Turtle said was “Drop the story.”

And so our young girl picked up the nearest book, the book she most longed to read, Life and Death and Love and Hate and War: Being the first in the Larry Lottery Series. She ran tentative fingers over the glossy spine, and was still, until she could no longer contain her longing.

The book fell fast and hard from her hands.

The ants scattered with a thin cry, knowing that the young girl finally meant business.

And our girl fell onto the book with a shriek of happiness, of desire fulfilled. Somehow, she managed to gasp out a “thank you” to her trusty Turtle, who nodded with a slow smile.

Forevermore after that, she read and read to her hearts’ joy. Sometimes, she even let the ants do their mischievous dance on the page. Knowing that it never lasts forever made all the difference.

The woman awoke with a start to the sound of a raven’s beak rapping at her window, awoke with a smile.

She knew now just what she needed to do.
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To dream new and different dreams, go here. My image is by D.P. Lathrop and was found here.