Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

“Talk about over-the-top.” Annie pointed through the attic window. The duchess, down below, was leaving for a play. Jen tossed their age-worn shoes to the floor. “She’s well-heeled of course.” “Still, I wish we could go.”   So Jen flipped their final penny and checked the score. “One of us could.”

“Pink!” said the teacher. He pointed to the map. “Pink! All those parts that are pink belong to us.” He waved his hands. He smiled at the sun that streamed through the window’s dull glass. “And that, Class, is why they say ‘The sun never sets on her Empire.’ Yes, children. It’s pink!” “Pinko Communist twit,” the little boy insulted his friend. And the world was a different shade these days, the maps redrawn, the old globes gathering dust. The sun rises and sets rust-red and old books lie unread. The leaders think, “Let’s spread democracy,” but is it pink?

The wind was howling, curtainless windows blanketed with snow. White lace faded to yellow in candle-light, almost beautiful, almost frost. The old lady at the table sat with knees together, politely tucked away, hands tearing crumbs from the last loaf of bread as she lifted them slowly to her mouth. Many settlers died that winter. Young hikers in bright modern parkas and boots ran to the cabin with glee. “Here it is! Just like in the photograph. Grandpa left Grandma behind and he never made it back, never forgave himself.” Then they buried her bones, eating sandwiches over the grave.

To fields of green, green grass he came, who once had fled in fear. He brought his tales of hope. He planned a future. Peace came near. The serpent-tongued he cast into the cold and held his staff, snake-bent but shepherd’s mold. He welcomed prince and pauper to the fold. In fields of green, green clover then he told of three-fold God. He promised fatherhood to fatherless, son-hood to all. He promised spirit’s truth to conquer lies and rescue lives. In fields of grass he held his staff placed firmly at his feet. Its roots grew strong, Aspatria, Patrick’s ash.

In fields of green, green grass and weeds and flowers and whispering seeds, well-watered land, he lay with hands in sand and blackened clay. The fibrous strands of roots were prayer-mats swathing holy ground, and branches swayed above, hiding the sun. Yielding his place, runaway slave, he listened for the waves. His roving eyes gazed for the boat—another long days’ journey, still not safe—then looked at weeds, three-leaved, held in his palm. The clover’s three-pronged hope inspired: a Father’s promise, Son’s protection, Spirit’s strength to cope. Then Patrick strode, one more day's marching left, and sailed for home.

The sun was bright, the season light, the people filled with joy. Wars had been fought and won—a new age begun. So now the government strolled the streets to the place where governments meet. Now they’d discuss how the needs of the poor could be fit to more important wants and desires. Politics. Politics. War’s easier, he thought, but when you’re a Caesar you do what a Caesar must do. Then others seized his robe and tore him down. They thrust him through with swords till he lay bleeding. One last friend—et tu Brute—cast the last blow.

“Will you march with me?” Caesar asked. Brutus stepped to his side. “The rabble,” said Caesar, looking round at the crowds that followed. “See how they run, in need a guide.” “The pomp and circumstance.” He observed the marbled senate hall, the waiting senator’s flocked “Like a bride for her groom.” “How true,” said Brutus, hand on his old friend’s arm, guiding his path. “How true.” They laughed at an old man’s wrath, and feeble woman’s angry prophesy. The black widow spider skittered away to the shadows where night-webs grew. She knew and waited, like a bride for her groom.

He saw her at the dawn of time, when she wondered how to feed and clothe her child, how to live from day to day, and he fell in love with her. He watched her in those violent times while she hid to protect her own, kept the children close when the soldiers came, and he fell in love with her. He saw her in the world’s new dawn. The war to end all wars was done and she looked around with hope till promises broke. She almost broke herself that time, but he loved and still he loves, eternally.