I made a breakthrough without realizing it, until just now.

I am still learning how all this works, and, at the moment, I’m trying to process what it means for the storyline.

Unknowingly, I put my character at a crossroad, and it became so much like life. So much like I write about in my poems. I am doing my best not to give away all of my secrets, but, it is about following, “Wind”. What I have come to know as, “Wind”, after many long, long, years.

So, I place my character at a juncture within the story, and he can chose, though, he is being “pulled”, that is, prodded, all but, “told”, to head in one direction, still, he chooses to seek out dog, he being, Raven, Beast and, Rider.

They choose, under the leadership of Raven, who is always the one out front.

But, they do not disagree.

So, I am researching the topography on Google Earth, for, the lay of the land is very important in this scene, and, I can picture it, very clearly, and yet, I want to see some real world examples, in order to test what is in my mind against what is actually possible, and, I find a similar, very, very similar setting, The Royal Gorge Bridge in Colorado, very quickly.

The mountains, a high plain, and a deep gorge, with a very high, very long, bridge, that were the key features. Features that HAD to be there.

Though, in my setting, massive, massive, tall, trees, and an almost impenetrable forest along one lip of the gorge.

My setting.

So, I began to wonder, as I wrote a couple of chapters, as Raven, Beast, and Rider, set out to pursue their brother, dog,

I began to wonder, what was the “group” (not a group, but I don’t wish to spell it out) doing, and, where were they going, and, why were they acting as they were acting.

It was just a thought in my head, and then, just a bit ago,

I knew.

And, it changed so much within my mind, within that picture I hold of the story, but, it also fit, very well, with the later part of the book I had already written.

Elements I was unsure of, and, wrestling with, now made sense.

It is Not how I wanted things to go, but, I am going to honor that choice, as silly as this may sound, for, this is something which happened to me in life, so many times, and, I think that Raven, et al, need to learn it as well, and, illustrate what I tried to describe in my poem,

MftH poem #2

Love

Where does love come from?
dog sits,
By the door.
Watching.

Where did he learn obedience?

Was it at a fork in the road?

Where, he must choose,
left, or,
Will it be right?

There is dust upon the wind,
It smells of fear.

Left, he is told.

He resists.

The sky is black with storm.
He chooses right,
As though that’s an option.

And he is,
Alone.

Utterly,
Alone.

The sky becomes,
Wide.
Huge,
Above him.

The world now,
Echoes,
Empty.

Utterly empty.

And, he is,
Alone.

Beneath an impossibly,
Huge,
Forever,
Wide,
Sky.

Alone in a world,
Which was once so full,
So enfolding,
So,
Connected.

A world in which he felt,
Everything.
Could inhabit,
Every,
One.

A world in which,
He was not,

Alone.

A world in which,
Wherever he looked,
Wherever he stood,
Wind was there.
Brother Wind.

Always,
Always,
Present.

Once,
He could feel,
The world in every pore,
In,
Every cell.

He would watch,
Would hide,
Before their very eyes.
He would go unnoticed,
And,
Watch.

He would see the Creators hand at work.
He would see Wind,
Passing,
Between,
Through,
Around,
Them.

He would watch,
Simply,
Watch,
And everything,
Everything,
Would,
Come alive.

Everything.

The old man in the broken down wheelchair,
On the dusty,
Hot,
Wind swept,
Corner.

The people teeming,
Everywhere,
Moving, always,
Moving.

The endless passing of,
Countless,
Cars.
Faces peering out,
Faces,
Staring straight ahead,
Unseeing.

Even the grass,
The forgotten blades,
Raised in dust,
Rising from the cracked pavement,
The forgotten places.

How they would all come,
Alive.

He would dwell therein.
Watching.

The very dust,
Would,
Sparkle.

And how he would see that old man,
As they could not.

Swept up,
As he was,
Within Wind’s passing.

The dust,
The forgotten blades of grass,
The debris,
Rising into small cones,
Tiny dust devils,
All,
Giving witness,
Paying heed,
Watching,

As,
Did,
I.

Watching.

He howls in pain.

To be, so,
Alone.
Now.

Alone.

In a world where,
Dust is,
Dust.

Where grass, is,
Grass.

And the old men are as broken,
As their old,
Broken,
Forgotten,
Chairs.

And the sky is huge,
And barren.

And wind,
Wind is cold,
Or hot,
And dusty,
And always,
Always,
Far,
Far,
Away.

It is a long,
long,
walk back.

But back to,
Where?

Where is home?
Where is Love?

Beneath this endless sky,
Within this bitter,
Empty,
Barren,
World.

He howls.
Agony.

He shakes his fur,
Stands,
Looks about, and,
Begins,
Again.

Begins the search,
Again.

Remembering a time before,
Wind.
A time when he was,
Alone.

And,
After a time.

A time of great searching,
Of remembering to,
Watch,
To listen,
To pause,
To taste the world,
And find,
Its,
Flavor.

After such a long,
Long,
Time,

The wind,
Again,
Carries,
The barest,
Barest,
Of scents.

He smells,
The passing of,
Wind.

The passing of,
The
Master.

Of,
Hope.

A kindling,
A presence,
The smallest of,
Traces, of,
Wind.

He trots off,
Nose to the ground.
The world,
Barely,
Barely,
Alive,
All about him,
But,

It. Is. Enough.

He will find. The way.
Home.