Premiere

A Magpie Tale

The Promenade, 1918, by Marc Chagall

Today is the beginning
One grand moment that ensures
You'll have eternity

Roll out the red carpet
Shine the light on your premiere
Today is the beginning

Reflect upon the past
Picture what may come to be
You'll have eternity

Prepare to improvise
Life won't always follow script
Today is the beginning

The great romantic leads
Step into supporting roles
To last eternally

Dream together in the clouds
Grounded in serenity
Today is the beginning
You'll have eternity


For my sister and her man, who wed next week

Discover more about eternal marriage at Mormon.org

Chamber Music

A Magpie Tale

© Charleston Trust Photograph by Axel Hesslenberg

She thought she would wilt
when the parlor door shut.
Perched on a sticky folding chair,
she fluffed the ruffles of her sundress,
but the flicking of her funeral fan
simply sent more sultry air
to slap her face.  The men in ties
tuned up, brows glistening,
peering at the pages through
the thick humidity.  What could
the black spots mean?
She caught a breath as they caught theirs,
and with a nod, bows stroked strings,
growling, prowling, sweetly singing.
She closed her eyes and flew away
on the soaring, sudden breeze.


This door takes me back to Charleston, South Carolina.  Someday I'll return and soak up the heat of the Spoleto USA arts festival...

Alchemy

A Magpie Tale

Lighthouse Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth 

Though dusky clouds make haste to bring the night,
the sun breaks through with one last show of light.
The bright beams reach across the sea, take hold,
and turn the granite lighthouse into gold.
For but a breath, across the deep and damp,
the stone walls shine far brighter than the lamp.

The dandelions below are unimpressed.
Their hue remains although the sun sinks west.
Assured of their own yellowness, and pleased,
they toss their manes, nod proudly at the breeze.
But all too soon their gold will turn to gray,
and, unlike the sturdy lighthouse, blow away.

Verboten

A Magpie Tale

no smoking, by Togan Gökbakar

Click.

"See here, can't you read pictograms?  No cameras allowed."  The old man waved his cigarette at a sign on the wall.

The girl skidded to a stop and squinted up at the slashed red circles.  She looked at each in turn, lips moving soundlessly.  The old man chuckled, and his wife shook her head over the illiteracy of the young.

Then the girl pointed at the sign herself.  "That's not a camera.  It's suitcases that aren't allowed."  She glared and raised her camera again.  "Caught you red-handed."

Click.

The old woman pulled her sleeves down over her scarlet gloves. 

The old man was unperturbed.  "This is a transportation center, young whippersnapper.  Of course our bags are allowed.  But your roller skates are not."

"Roller skates are a perfectly good form of transportation.  Environmentally sound, you know?  Unlike train engines, with all their smoke.  Look at the sign.  That's no roller skate, it's a steam locomotive that's not allowed.  Nasty things."

The man laughed aloud.  "No locomotives?  In a train station?  That's absurd!  But you have no business bringing that dog here."

The girl snorted.  "My dog is a hardworking husky.  He has every right to be here.  The sign is about little sausage dogs, like your wife has in her prohibited suitcase."

The old woman pushed the torpid pooch further down into her purse.

"And you're smoking cigarettes," the girl said triumphantly.  "That's four for four, as you're waiting for a locomotive and all."

The old man growled, but his wife nudged him.  "She has a point, dear."

"That's not a cigarette on the sign," he sputtered.  "That--that--that's the plume on your ridiculous hat!  Not allowed.  Get out of here!"

The girl raised an eyebrow.  "I was just leaving when you interrupted me."

She took one last snapshot of the fuming old man and his uneasy wife.  Then she adjusted her feathered cap, took a firm grasp of the husky's reins, and shouted, "Mush!"  The big dog sprang into action, leaping down to the tracks and racing away.  The girl yodeled with glee as she rolled along, her feather streaming behind like a peacock in flight.

Instructions from the Caterers

A Magpie Tale

illustration by Helen Ward

If you go down in the woods today,
you must wear a party hat.
Be careful as you carry your tray;
you must not trip and fall flat.
Serve from the left,
remove from the right.
Don't lick the plate
'til you're out of sight.
Be gracious as you serve
the Teddy Bears' Picnic.

Revelation

Michael Young has revealed the cover for his next Advent Anthology, Carol of the Tales.  Isn't it beautiful?  This cover will conceal a new story I wrote, which happens to deal with divine revelation.  I know, we just had Easter, it's much too early to think about Christmas.  Don't worry; I'll remind you about the book later.

What you need to know now is that Michael is also collecting original fairy tales for another anthology.  Do you have a fairy tale up your sleeve?  Polish it up, and send it in!  You can find the submission guidelines under Lost Tales from the Black Forest on Michael's Current Projects page.  Check it out!

Eve's Kitchen

A Magpie Tale

Between Heaven and Hell, 1989 by Jacek Yerka

What's for supper?
Bread, again,
seasoned with our toil
among the thorns
and creeping things
and storms.

Oh, yes, I miss it, too,
the vines and branches
hanging low
with just-ripe fruit
for just us two,
a feast for the plucking,
juice dripping
down our skin.

But recall:
until that one
Forbidden flavor
taught us other-
wise,
we knew not
how sweet it was,
our Paradise;

without that bite
we would still be
unsalted dough,
no need to rise
to any occasion,
ever baking
in the sun,
but never done.

Off Broadway

A Magpie Tale

 Faun, Horse, and Bird, 1936
Pablo Picasso 

     So a faun, a chicken, and an ugly horse walk into a barn.

     The barn-tender says, "Can I see some ID?  No minor characters allowed in here."

     The faun draws himself up to his full height and says, "I'm playing Puck.  I may be a small actor, but it's not a small part."

     The barn-tender nods, and waves him in.

     The horse stamps his hoof and tosses his mane.  "I portray Black Beauty."

     The barn-tender casts a critical eye over his shaggy gray coat.  "You look more like Rocinante."

     The horse snorts.  "I wear a wig on stage."

     The barn-tender shrugs, and lets him in.

     The chicken is walking around in circles, pecking at the floor, checking through her feathers.

     The barn-tender says, "What about you?  Got some ID?"

     The chicken looks up and flutters her wings.  "I seem to have left it across the road."     

Hindsight

A Magpie Tale

Not to be Reproduced, 1937 by René Magritte

"New mirrors for old!  New mirrors for old!"
 
Amelia had almost learned to ignore the patter of the pedlars in the street outside the town house, but this cry captured her attention.  

There was never this much clamor at her home in the country, and wished she could return.  But it was not to be.  The estate had been let, its contents sold to pay her father's debts.  Her mother had brought her to town with minimal staff and furnishings, determined to marry Amelia off.  

"We must keep up appearances until you find a good match, or your father's business improves," Mother had explained.

Amelia was not sure which event was less likely.  She was certain, though, that it was most difficult to keep up appearances without a maid, or even a decent mirror.  She set down the gown she was turning, and picked up the mirror from  her makeshift dressing table.  One corner of the glass had lost its shine completely.  It had cracked through the middle, and no longer fit the faded frame.  Mother had said the mirror was an antique, but Amelia knew better.  If it had any value, it would have been sold, too.  

This mirror certainly had not aided her appearance at the Earl's ball last week.  A discreet friend had helped Amelia remove the smudge from her chin, after Amelia had noticed much smirking behind fans.  The smirking turned to full-blown laughter, though, when a spirited rondo with the Earl's son had shaken loose her coiffure.  The young man had been mortified, and retired with one of her hair pins stuck in his cravat.

"New mirrors for old!"

It sounded too good to be true, but she might as well see what the man had to offer. 

The peddlar was surrounded by giggling serving girls.  Amelia stood in her doorway, clutching the dingy mirror tightly, until they had completed their business with the pedlar.  Once the last pair had decided they needed to return to their posts, she approached.

"Ah, Mademoiselle!  A lady of quality," the peddlar purred.  

Amelia bowed politely.  At least she still had her good manners.

"What have you to exchange?  Ah, yes, very old, very good."  The pedlar beckoned, leading her to the back of the cart.  "For you, I have something special.  I acquired it many years ago, and have not been able to part with it.  But I think you might appreciate its value."

Amelia began to protest.  She hadn't any money to spend.  But before she could say a word, he put a finger to his lips.

"Shh.  Just look."  He lifted a velvet drape.  "It is . . . enchanted."

Amelia stepped up to look in the large mirror, and saw someone else. 

"What sort of deception is this?"  She turned to the pedlar, indignant.  In the corner of her eye, she noticed that the image in the mirror had also turned.  She looked back.  The back of the dress, with a button undone, looked familiar.  The other girl's hair was the same color as her own.  Slowly Amelia reached up to touch her hair, and saw her own hand reaching up in the mirror.

"No deception, Mademoiselle.  It is a miracle!  This is the only mirror in the world that will show you the back of your own lovely head."

Amelia studied the reflection.  First she attended to the button.  Then she secured a stray lock of hair.  Slowly she smiled.  This mirror could be useful.  Valuable.  The key to her social success.  

"This is, indeed, a marvel," she said to the pedlar.  "Only enchantment could explain it."

The peddlar nodded.  "Oui, it must be yours."

Could he possibly mean to give it to her in exchange for Mother's castoff mirror?  Amelia felt giddy.  Never would she suffer such a disaster at another ball!  Then she remembered the smudge.   

"But first, tell me, what must I do to induce the mirror to show my face?"

"Simply turn around, Mademoiselle."

She did so.  

"It shows your lovely face quite perfectly," he purred.

She turned back to the mirror, and saw only the back of her head.  "But," she turned full circle again.  "But I cannot see my face when I look the other way."

The pedlar shrugged, and reached for the mirror.  "It is enchanted, recall?  Magical items can be eccentric.  Shall I wrap it for you?"

"Eccentric?  It is defective!  I'll thank you for my old mirror." She retrieved the antique and strode purposefully back into her house.

"Which is why I have not been able to part with it," the pedlar murmured.  Lifting his hat, he checked the cowlick on the back of his own head.  He made a futile attempt to smooth it, sighed, and pushed his cart on to the next street.