A mother’s Aztec ruin lay in solace on the ground.
Scat scattered, mischievous miscreants, abound.
I foray about…under their suspicious eye.
I understand…I am not one of their kind.
My paranoia not withstanding…
‘…what is this…
scurrying about?’
Hidden in the open…
‘amber luminosity does not leave.’
I smile to myself and breathe.
Admiration to those
nestled in the leaves.
Curious eyes do not wish to be rude.
They have only come for the food.
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I am Brangien [Brangaine] of Weisefort, Ireland, lady-in-waiting to my cousin Isolde, who became promised to King Marc of Cornwall. His nephew Tristan escorted us to England by ship. But Tristan and Isolde fell in love at sea. As ye may know, or will find out, they cite the philter they drank as the cause, over which I was supposed to keep vigil. I would like to share my perspective of how I have created good in the world through my herbs and observations. There is much to tell, including how I have adopted this odd language. In good time. My life is in God’s hands. –Inspired by the modern French translations of the Tristan and Isolde texts
And he saith vnto them, Follow mee: and I will make you fishers of men. Matthew 4:19 (1611 KJV)
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