CROW WOMAN (a short story)

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sooZen
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CROW WOMAN (a short story)

Post by sooZen » August 27th, 2016, 1:07 pm

CROW WOMAN (a short story)

The desert storm blew in with a fierce vengeance. Tearing the rusty tin roof off my garden shed and tossing it into the dead old elm where it hung like a flag waving in the stiff breeze. I could smell the creosote and mesquite as I emerged from the safety of my little adobe house to watch the sun rise like a burning ember, turning the distant mountains a fiery rose. The incense of a desert rain wafted through the air. The now still wet sand fragrant as wet bricks and puddles of rain dotted the yard which I knew would disappear quickly as the sun rose higher on the horizon.

I was still thinking about the old woman I had seen in town yesterday at the five and dime. Needing some canning supplies for those prickly pear fruits I turn into jelly that I in turn trade my neighbors for whatever they have growing or just had extra of (like some nails for loose tin roofs) I rode my bicycle the short distance. I had noticed her standing over by the dried herbs lining a shelf in the back corner. No one else was in the store and I didn’t want to be rude and stare but doggone it, that was nigh impossible.

Now, I have heard the tales of Crow Woman but no one really knew who she was or where she lived or even if she even existed at all. Some said she lived in a cave by herself, high in a canyon nearly impossible to climb. Others said she was a witch, a bad spirit and to avoid her unless you wanted some bad juju. Many folks in town said she must be a shaman or a figment of imagination brought on by too many shots of tequila.

This mysterious woman may not even be Crow Woman but she sure wasn’t someone I knew to live in our little town or if she was, she had done a darn fine job of hiding out because I had never noticed her before. Trying to look interested in the bolts of cotton that were stacked on a table, I peered over the material hill so I could get a closer view.

She wore what appeared to be some sort of handmade black cape that covered a long trailing black dress. Not something I would wear in the heat of the summer as I had thrown on a pair of shorts and an old tee to bicycle the short distance to our only store. Her only adornments were some black feathers and a few shells braided into her long thick black hair traced with the silver tresses of old age.

Mrs. Hudson, the shopkeep, was busy stacking some canned tomatoes near the register and didn’t even look up or even seem to notice the old woman near the back. The object of my curiosity seemed not to walk but float across the old wooden floorboards as she touched each of the jars of herbs lightly with gnarled and bent fingers. I heard a low humming as she went about her business, such as it was. Some sort of chant, I thought. A quiet singsong that was soothing despite my furtive efforts to spy on the old lady.

Her feet were enclosed in soft beaded moccasins, also black. I couldn’t quite make out the design but it appeared to be some sort of a bird intricately sewn on the tops peeking out from beneath her black dress. Just as I was staring at her feet she turned, startling me in my supposed hiding place, and said, “Use your gifts!” What gifts was she referring to, I wondered? And I was so taken aback at her talking directly to me that I dropped the bolt of cotton I had used as a shield which caused Mrs. Hudson to glance in my direction.

“Can I help you Helen?” “Those new materials would make a fine summer dress.” Mrs. Hudson didn’t even look in the direction of the woman who had startled me so. “No thanks Mrs. Hudson, I was really looking for some muslin and some new jars for canning my prickly pear” I managed to blurt out. I turned back towards the old woman and she was gone. Poof! Just like that and the jars of herbs sat undisturbed and alone on their shelf.

I purchased my muslin to use as a strainer and some of the lids and pint jars I needed for my task, tucked them in my basket and bicycled my way back home. A thunderstorm was building up in the East and I knew a big wind was coming and if I was lucky, some rain for the garden.

Now, as I sat on my porch swing with the first cuppa coffee in my cracked, but beloved, mug... the old woman was all I could think about. Did I imagine her? No, that can’t be. She seemed as real as the wooden slats beneath my butt. How come Mrs, Hudson didn’t notice her or hear her humming and talking to me? What did her admonishment mean? I had no answers, only more questions as I watched the morning sun peek over Serenity Mountain.

Time to make jelly, I thought. Just then a dark bird flew overhead and landed on the fence post near the gate. It looked very much like how I imagined that old woman would look if she was a bird. It was carrying what appeared to be a polished stone in it’s beak and dropped it on the flagstone path that led to my porch then flew away just as quickly as it appeared. A gift? I put the stone, a smooth and translucent Apache tear, into my apron pocket and set about gathering the prickly fruits for my jelly.

I didn’t finish all the jelly canning until the sun was almost setting in the western sky. The few clouds that were left were turning gold, lavender and deep pink with a silver lining as the giant orb crept towards the horizon. I had 25 pints of prickly pear jelly, the same jewel pink as the clouds in the sky. Feeling that stone in my pocket, I picked up one of the jars and sat it on the fence post where the dark bird had landed. A gift.

The next morning it was gone and all I could do is smile and think about the mystery I had been privileged to be a part of. Some things just can’t be explained in the high desert where the coyotes sing lullabies and crows leave gifts of stones. “Use your gifts!” she said. Good advice coming from anyone, whether real or unreal. It was going to be a beautiful day in the desert southwest. I just knew it…

Susan A. Lee
8/27/2016
Freedom's just another word...



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mtmynd
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Re: CROW WOMAN (a short story)

Post by mtmynd » August 27th, 2016, 1:31 pm

Wow, SooZ! This may be the best story I've seen comin' outta your fingertips. Masterfully expressed like the event was something out of your life it is so real life.

I love it, dear...more! (got it in you?)
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Re: CROW WOMAN (a short story)

Post by sasha » August 27th, 2016, 4:58 pm

fascinating vignette, rich with the little details of your world (so different from my own!) I once loved a woman with Native blood, and so much of this reminded me of her - the style, the trappings, all as redolent of her as the scent of sage....
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710

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sooZen
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Re: CROW WOMAN (a short story)

Post by sooZen » August 30th, 2016, 12:47 pm

mtmynd wrote:Wow, SooZ! This may be the best story I've seen comin' outta your fingertips. Masterfully expressed like the event was something out of your life it is so real life.

I love it, dear...more! (got it in you?)
Hey goofy! :wink: I have a million (well, maybe hundreds) of them and all of them are purty good. Thank you for the complement sir. Maybe I will write a second little chapter about Crow Woman and Helen... We'll see IF I have it in me? Hah!
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sooZen
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Re: CROW WOMAN (a short story)

Post by sooZen » August 30th, 2016, 12:56 pm

Thank you sasha! It was a fun flow for me. I am an herbalist and Choctaw (just a dab) on my maternal Grandmother's side. My mother was a bird "whisperer" as am I. The desert SW is my home and I find it endlessly fascinating. Feeling a bit inspired to write another one. Appreciate the encouragement...
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sasha
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Re: CROW WOMAN (a short story)

Post by sasha » August 30th, 2016, 5:07 pm

No kidding! My lady friend was part Choctaw as well! We used to joke about her Choctaw-Norwegian roots, don'cha know....

Me, I'm born & bred New England, and as in love with our stony hills as you are with your own milieu. Cecil & I "met" online after he'd commented on some photos of an early blizzard I'd posted at another site.
.
"Falsehood flies, the Truth comes limping after it." - Jonathan Swift, ca. 1710

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the mingo
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Re: CROW WOMAN (a short story)

Post by the mingo » August 31st, 2016, 9:40 am

Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.

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