If you wait quietly, you might see her. She comes at night, singing softly to herself – the low, sobbing song of a grieving troll. She is searching for her lost child. She moves the stones around, looking for signs of life – softened skin, slow breaths – or even of death – the remembered curve of a cheek, the frozen shape of an eye.
She piles the stones in different patterns. We think the designs have meaning, but we don’t really understand them. Are they a threat to those who stole her baby? A message to a lost child? A cry of pain? This is for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields and her Friday Fictioneers. Photo by Sandra Crook, words by me.