Meadow - Posts tagged with story

Sacred Labor

Fri, 19 Sep 2025 12:20:10 GMT

George puffed on his pipe, the aroma of strong tobacco slowly filling the chilly morning air. It was the end of summer but the temperature had started to drop early this year. He sat on his porch watching the sky, as he always did. To anyone looking, the intensity of his gaze might give the impression that he was deeply yearning to be up there amongst the clouds. But of course, there was no one to notice. There had been no one for many years, ever since his wife Petunia passed.

He lived in an old hut in a wooded clearing. There used to be a garden all around the house. Now it was no more than knee high grass in most places, with the only exception being a faint hair of a path that started at the hut and went in the direction of the village. The only sign that someone ever came there.

Unable to stand upright without an effort, George had taken to spending most of his time sitting on his porch. Sun or rain, it was a good bet he would be there. Watching the sky, watching the birds.

He liked birds. He enjoyed their freedom as they flew over the vast endless skies. Watching them made him briefly forget how unlike them he was in his old age.

The birds never came too close to the hut, though they would frequently perch on the trees surrounding it. This had always been so, even when Petunia was around. Once, they'd tried putting a bird feeder on a wooden post in front of their porch, but no bird ever came. Now, the feeder was lost among the tall grasses, the feed long eaten by crawling things. The post still remained though, stout and resolute. A little bit like George, both refusing to give way to the passage of time.

George remembered a group of scientists once came to the village saying they wanted to study a most curious flock of vultures. These, they said, would fly in a strict pattern around other villages in the area, stopping there for some days before moving on to the next. "This in itself is not so strange" said the scientist, "what's really strange is that this flock, and only this flock, stays here during winter while all the other vultures migrate south to warmer climates".

George didn't know what happened to the scientists or whether they discovered anything, or maybe their grants had stopped coming in as he saw no more of them after that season. As far as he knew no one else had heard anything of them.

Still, ever since then George remained watchful for vultures, and whenever he saw them flying high above he was reminded of the scientists who seemed so excited by carrion birds. At other, darker moments, he wondered if, were he to die, who would be first to find him: the vultures or the villagers.

Lately he'd come to see them more and more often. Or so it seemed to him at least. They would circle above the clearing for a while only to fly away without ever landing on any of the trees. He wondered if maybe they were marking the places where their next meal might come from.

On that morning, George saw a large flock of vultures flying high above. "A group of vultures in flight is called a Kettle" he seemed to remember one of the scientists saying.

They flew in a spiral above the clearing, some going in one direction and some the other. From where he sat it seemed their wings briefly melded when they passed in front of each other, and separated shortly thereafter, again and again as if in an elaborate hypnotic dance.

Three specks detached from the rest and came gliding silently to land among the tall grasses. Big birds they were, much bigger than he expected them to be when he first saw them high up. One of them hopped forward and with an elegant flap of it's large wings perched on top of the decrepit bird feeder's post.

George stared at the bird who stared back at him with a piercing expression. Almost human, but not quite. There was something familiar about it. The vulture slowly opened its beak.

"George" said the bird, its beak immobile. The sound seeming to come from behind it.

George sat there trying to decide if the bird had actually talked to him. Something started to bubble up from the back of his mind, an image, a memory, and he immediately recognized the voice and knew why the bird looked familiar.

"Bill? Bill the cobbler?" he said as he felt his pulse quicken, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.

"Oh George. It's been such a long time my old friend. We've been watching you for many moons. Ever since your wife passed we've been here, waiting."

The vulture looked and sounded like Bill, and yet not quite like him. It felt removed, as if from a great distance, as if from behind a veil. Still, the spark of him was there.

"Waiting for what? How..." his mind still racing to catch up with the moment.

"Waiting for you to be ready my friend. And we now think you are."

"Ready for what?"

"To join us, of course."

At that, other vultures started to land in the tall grass. Some of them also seemed familiar. Was that Old Rita over there? And Bernie the old thatcher?

A spark of hope alighted on his chest, scorching every other thought out of his mind "Wait, is my dear Petunia with you?"

The bird closed its eyes and shook its head "I'm afraid not George, we don't know where she is, but the wind tells us she is not far. Somewhere in these valleys she lies, but your paths diverge now, and if you see each other it will be only as an echo."

George slumped back into his chair. Silence seemed to stretch like a blanket over them, covering everything in the clearing. Even the grasshoppers stood silent, as if watching with interest what was going on. The vultures sat, staring at him with their piercing eyes of liquid night.

"Join us" said Bill the Vulture.

"Join us" repeated the others in chorus.

A cold wind seemed to blow into George's face, as if a door into a dark and long forgotten place had just been opened. An otherworldly chill ran up his spine.

"You have nothing here, and you know it. You, like this house, are just waiting for an end that is already long overdue. Join us."

George knew Bill was right. After his wife passed he'd lost all interest in life, just moving on from one day to the next, smoking his pipe and watching the sun as it traveled through the sky. He slowly brought his hand to his throat, trying to stop the knot that was forming there.

"How?" he said, his voice breaking a little from the truth.

"We will come again in two weeks time. Fashion a hooded cloak for yourself and be ready." croaked bill. George noticed that the more Bill spoke the more he sounded like a bird and less as a human.

"And George, this is the only thing you will be able to take with you" Bill croaked, "make sure it warms you"

With these final words the vultures spread their wings and flew up into the sky. George watched them and was surprised to realize he felt sad at their leaving. He knew at that moment that what he most wanted was to go with them, to move on, to not be alone anymore. As brief at it was, their visit had brought something into his life that he'd been missing for a long time.

"Look for us at sunrise." came a far away croak from Bill.

George stood immobile for some time, letting what had happened sink in. Seeing some of his old friends made him better appreciate all the loneliness he'd felt these past few years. But with him they also left a spark of hope: they will be back soon, and he will no longer be alone.

George went inside and sprinkled some tea leaves in a pot with water and put it to boil. Petunia never liked to have leaves floating around in her tea, but he didn't mind. As he waited, his mind started to think about the cloak. It seemed to him that a fever had come over him, an obsession almost, and he could think of nothing else.

Finally the water boiled, he poured the tea into a cup. As it cooled he went in search of the tools he'd need for what he was planning to do. When living out by yourself one always has thread and needle handy as stitching is an essential skill out here. He never got any good at it though, and now with his atrophied fingers it would be harder than ever.

He stood with needle and thread in his hands for long while, thinking of where to start. The tea cold and all but forgotten when he suddenly got an idea, as if a flash, an image of Petunia's wedding dress.

It didn't take much for him to find it among the few things he kept in a memory box in his closet. He took it downstairs and spread it on the table. Taking a sip of the cold tea he admired how beautiful it still was, and remembered how Petunia looked in it. Taking the old but serviceable pair of scissors from the cupboard he set to work and cut out large strips from the dress's flowing skirt, and a large cutout from the bodice. The scissor squeaking constantly in his hands as he worked.

George's hands would frequently cramp up, forcing him to stop and rest. Rough knuckled fingers, unable to fully open, with only but a shadow of the strength they used to have in their youth.

It was slow going, and the pain would've been grueling in a normal situation, but for some reason he didn't mind right now. It was as if some other will but his own was guiding his actions. He had no idea why he was cutting the shapes he was, but he knew exactly where they were meant to go. The strips on his shoulders, like feathers, the flattened bodice would be part of the chest covering.

He fell asleep at the kitchen table as he worked, and continued working as soon as he got up. In the morning of the second day he suddenly realized he was done with the dress, now the cloak called for something else. He sat trying to think of where else could he source materials from for a long time, but nothing came to him, everything he thought of seemed inappropriate. Then, in the middle of the night of the second day he suddenly woke up with a flash, an image of the bed cover on which him and Petunia had spent so many chilly afternoons sipping hot cocoa and chatting of small things.

The same process repeated itself with more and more items. For every new item that he added he felt the strengthening of the intuitive connection that was guiding him along in the process. After the bed cover was done, the flashes came freely and frequently. He noticed that all of the items where ones that had some emotional connection with his life, all of which brought him warmth.

Then came the stitching part. Again, he had no idea how or why he was doing what he was, but he'd come to trust his hands by then, and just let them do as they will. He spent most of the remaining days stitching. Alternating between carefully joining pieces of fabric and getting flashes of where and how to place them, as if heard from a voice far away, or deep within. No two strips where the same, each having its specific and perfect place and function.

Eventually, by the morning of the day before the vultures said they'd be back he had a beautiful cloak. While looking at it he got the impression that he had grown it in the same way that humans grow hair, or birds grow feathers. He had no idea how, but it had sprung from him. It was, in many ways, a part of him.

The frayed cloth of the strips did indeed make it look like they were feather covering all of his back and shoulders. The cloak laid on the kitchen table and he admired just how truly perfect it was, much more than he expected or that his skill should allow for. He yearned to put it on, and as he did he felt how thick and warm the fabric was, how soft and yet sturdy. He felt strong wearing it. Not younger, but more as if a fire was lit within him and fed into his every limb, out of every pore.

As his fingers stroked the different parts of the cloak he could tell where each piece had come from, filling his mind with memories of good things. He spent all of that day wearing the cloak and admiring it for what it was. By the end of the day, warmth started to thaw his heart. He realized just how cocooned within himself he'd been. Protecting himself from feeling, cutting himself out. But now, he was ready to open, to be connected with life once again.

Come night he slept in his bed for the last time, and dreamt dreams of happiness, but not nostalgia, more as a flower that's ready to bloom, to transform and leave back fond memories of what was before in favor of the miracle of the future. He also dreamt stranger things. Dreams of feathers and beaks, of talons scraping the dirt. Him looking at his own pale face, the beak entering a wet something, tearing at sinew, flying over high above and a flower, a bright rosy petunia standing on a hill not far away. His Petunia.

As soon as sunlight started to color the edge of his windows he got up and donned his cloak over his bare skin. It was strangely warm, and seemed to have changed in the night to a much darker texture, or maybe it was just a trick of the light and the coldness of the air.

He opened the door with the intention of waiting for the vultures, got outside and stared at the sky as he leaned on the porch's railing. It was clear as far as he could see, except for a few clouds set ablaze from below by the morning sun. He fidgeted with the cloak thinking that perhaps he'd imagined the whole thing, that in his old age he'd finally cracked, that the vultures never really came to him. Terror filled his heart at the wavering of that hope which had kindled within it. But then he heard it, a rustle in the grass.

Looking down he saw that what he had initially taken to be normal shadows on the grass where in fact birds, vultures big and small. Scores of them sitting still as statues with their beady eyes watching him, waiting expectantly. George knew, that these were all like he, lost souls the flock had saved.

In front of them all was Bill, who was looking up at the sky. George followed his gaze and saw up above a single lone speck flying in spirals above them all. He knew this was no normal vulture, nor was it a lost soul like him. A shepherd it was, and George was filled with longing to join her.

Without really knowing what he was doing he got on the porch's railing, squatting as a bird might on a tree branch. His eyes ever upward and didn't see as the birds in front of him opened their wide wings, urging him on, as if with their silent and steady beat they could propel him onwards, and upwards.

A final fiery impulse filled George veins, his heart yearning for the soaring wind, and the company of that shepherd up above. He spread his cloak as if wings, as if it were the most natural of motions, and leapt. He soared up, and up, and he saw with amazement that he was not alone. All around him were the vultures from his garden, following him, urging him on, welcoming him as brothers and sisters into the flock, and he knew he would never be alone again.

They flew together, following the shepherd, going nowhere but seeing everything. In circles above his house they flew, and in his new vulture mind he knew it was because there was work to do below.

The shepherd flew down and lied on the grass next to a long gray shape. They all flew down and alighted next to her. All waiting silently, giving space for George to pass through and see what it was that was lying in his garden. He looked around himself at his new brothers and sisters and they no longer seemed simple birds but were now his equals. He knew many of them, and felt the warmth and support as would be given to a long lost brother who finally made his way back home. From his point of view now the beaks and eyes expressive, their plumage beautiful and unique, and he knew from their expressions that he still needed to take one last step to be free, and that they would help but he had to begin it alone.

He made his way to the front, and saw with equal mix of horror and relief that it was himself lying on the ground. An old frail body, bent and broken by the years, lying cold and dead amidst the morning dew of the tall grass covered by a cloak that looked sun bleached as if with many days of exposure.

He raised his eyes to the shepherd and knew what had to be done. Before beginning the sacred labor he raised his head and gave out a mighty squawk, and in a hill not far away a bright petunia heard it and was glad her beloved was alone no more.

Vultures are holy creatures.
Tending the dead.
Bowing low.
Bared head.
Whispers to cold flesh,
“Your old name is not your king.
I rename you ‘Everything.’”

~ The poem “Clergy” originally published in the collection "Love Notes from the Hollow Tree" by Jarod K. Anderson

The two headed eagle

Sun, 04 May 2025 18:16:37 GMT

The following is an excerpt from The Heart is Noble by Ogyen Trinley Dorje (the 17th Karmapa). I thought it was especially prescient (though perhaps all that have heard this story have thought it applied perfectly to their time).

[...] The first [story] is of a two-headed eagle; lets call it an American bald eagle. This eagle had two heads. We know from biology that each head naturally has its own brain, but this two-headed, two-brained eagle had only one body. (Sorry, this is funny science, I know!) The two heads had different ways of seeing the world, and they didn't much care for each other. In fact, they each really wanted the whole body to themselves. Each head started scheming ways to get rid of the other.

One day, this two-headed bird landed near some poison. Each of the heads leapt at this opportunity to do away with the other.

Each tried to entice the other to eat the poison, describing how delicious it was and courteously inviting the other to treat himself to it. Finally one of the heads—the less persuasive one, I guess— gobbled up the poison. But of course, this act poisoned the whole body that they shared. They were each so focused on their own self-centered aims and their dislike of one another that they forgot that they shared the same body.

My egg is better than yours and how all the things came to be

Wed, 21 Aug 2024 16:24:00 GMT

Long, long ago, before all the things, the two gods, the Red One and the Blue One met for breakfast. They sat down at a long wooden table, facing each other, and chatted amiably. “Ah, here comes the food!” exclaimed the Blue One, wringing his hands.

A pair of servants entered, wearing richly tailored white vests with long tails and golden trimming. Each carried a plate covered with a cloche. Their stately walk took them behind one of the gods, and in unison they set the plates down and, with a flourish, removed the cloches.

“An egg!” said the Red One in delight.

They both stared at their eggs for a while—perfectly made, round, and tender, filling the room with a buttery aroma. Then they looked at each other’s eggs.

“At least I didn’t get yours,” said the Blue One. “It’s much smaller and wrinkled compared to mine.”

The Red One, who had been so pleased with his egg, now began to see defects in it and retorted, “Well, at least mine smells better.”

“Ha, it smells like horse! It’s actually making it hard for me to want to eat mine.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” said the Red One, rising.

“I am,” said the Blue One.

“You’re the liar! Your egg is small and smells like fish!” said the Red One.

They both looked down and saw that the Red One’s plate was now a couple of spans larger.

“Oh yeah?” said the Blue One, and both his side of the table and his plate enlarged by a couple of feet.

As you can probably imagine, given that they were gods, they soon found themselves arguing over whose plate was larger and quickly ended up out of the room, their breakfast forgotten.

But it didn’t stop there; they continued their argument endlessly, their omnipresence allowing them to keep track of how much the other had done

And so it was that the whole cosmos was filled with all the things.

Now, the eggs, finding themselves at the center of such expansion, had slowly been pushed closer together.

A black cat, a ratter, had been watching all this with detached amusement, as cats are wont to do.

Eventually, as things settled, the cat jumped on the table and gulped down both eggs, savoring every bite. They were indeed both delicious. The cat was no connoisseur or great critic of egg gastronomy, but he deemed them both masterpieces.

His belly now full, he curled up on the mantelpiece and went to sleep, dreaming peaceful cat dreams.

The Deli Asocial

Sun, 07 Apr 2024 14:03:00 GMT

It was again time for the dreaded deli counter. Around once a month Gio's wife sent him over to the supermarket to buy stuff, which was all fine and good; at least the part that you could do by yourself... At least the part you did not need to speak to anyone.

Many years back, the government created a way to recognize asocial members of society. In an uncharacteristic moment of cleverness they came up with a very simple, yet effective solution: the deli counter in supermarkets.

Today was Gio's first time in over 20 years buying cheese and cold-cuts all by himself. Society was brutal in purging asocial members and, while he didn't think he was one, his doubts scared him so he had done his best to avoid going alone. But today it couldn't be helped.

He got there and was faced by the usual friendly, aged clerk. He puts up a convincing front but everyone knows he is really an undercover government official.

“What can I help you with, Sir?” he said.

Gio noticed the judge looking at him. There’s always at least one judge. Always. They have the appearance of old, harmless ladies, but do not be fooled! They are extremely good observers, and are trained to expertly judge the actions of others.

“Sir?” said the clerk.

“Yes, I would like some Iberico ham please.”

He had studied this part. There are many different kinds of ham and not knowing that is a one-way ticket to DOOM.

“Sure, how much do you want?”

Damn, he had not prepared well enough for this.

“Err, give me, … 120 grams” said Gio.

He could feel his hands starting to sweat, and the penetrating gaze of the judge aimed directly at him. He stumbled, and they all knew it. He must tread carefully now.

“And how thin do you want me to slice it?” said the clerk in a clipped voice as he turned on the meat slicer. He was no longer smiling.

This was just too much for Gio.

“I.. I… Could you... Could you cut it, thin?” he said with a not-so-hopeful grin.

Silence. That’s all they answered. Both the judge and the clerk were glaring at him. They were somewhat surprised; both of them had been in service for over 20 years and neither had ever encountered an actual asocial.

The judge spoke “You have been individuated, asocial, there’s no room for you in our society. You are sentenced to DOOM!”, the lady pulled on her cane, a trapdoor open below Gio and he fell.

DOOM was known as a concept to everyone, but Gio soon discovered it was a steel chute about 20 meters deep, with a lava pit at the bottom.

As he was falling, a single thought went through his mind

“This is absurd.”

He then plunged into the lava and the world was rid of an undesirable asocial.

The Asphirinx

Sat, 16 Dec 2023 16:35:00 GMT

"You're in the presence of the great Asphirinx of Tehndor. Kneel, mortal, and know your peril. Are you seeking passage to the tomb of Tantemoh the Third? If so, know that you must pass by me. Speak now."

"Wait. 'Asphirinx' you said? I thought this was the Sphinx's chamber" said the explorer, all grimy from spending three days drudging through the ancient tombs "damn, I must have taken a wrong turn" he said to himself.

"Ah! Tell me not about that treacherous fiend!" spit the Asphirinx "why would you want her anyway? Neither wisdom nor riches does she impart, only death, and her bloody riddles".

For as long as he could remember he'd dreamt of the sacred city every night without fault. At first he didn't know what the dreams meant, but growing up as the son of a historian he soon found out that his dreams pointed to a real place, one he thought he was destined to find. Since then, he had spent all his life looking for it, looking for answers.

"All my research says that the Sphinx of Tehndor guards the entrance to the sacred city, isn't that so? That's what I'm after, and I'm prepared to bargain my life to reach it" said the explorer.

This was his last chance. All his worldly possessions had gone into financing this trip.

The Asphirinx sighed and lay on her haunches with her head held high.

"So you have hopes of answering my cousin's riddles eh? That's because you don't know the kind of questions she asks." said the Asphirinx "and her power to bar entrances is the worst. Do you know what she did at our family dinner during the last opening-of-the-year festival? She bloody stood there and said no one could pass into the dining room until they answered what she's got in her pocket! She doesn't even have pants!"

"Errr..." said the explorer, now confused. The conversation had take a decidedly unexpected turn. It didn't seem wise to interrupt though.

"And then you know what she did? She bloody turned and bloody ate the whole bloody dinner all by herself, leaving nothing for the rest of us!" it seemed she was getting into the groove now "You would think she would be satiated with all those handsome explorers such as yourself that she's gobbling up all the time. Do you know when it was the last time I ate someone?"

The explorer deemed it wise to change topics. Talking about eating people was not something he thought smart to engage in with a person-eating creature.

"So.. why do they call you Asphirinx anyway? You seem very much like what I would expect a Sphinx to look like" he said tentatively. And with surprise noticed that the Asphirinx seemed pleased by the comment.

"Ah.." said the Asphirinx with a sly smile "smart of you not to answer my question directly! Not all sphinxes are as honorable as myself, and many would hide their mortal riddles in something that would otherwise appear as everyday pleasantries. And to answer your question, I'm called the Asphirinx in mocking by my peers." She seemed hesitant to say more.

"Why is that?" Pushed on the explorer hesitantly, and perhaps unwisely. There was something not entirely right going on, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Well, I take lots of aspirin to handle my pain. You see, on my very first night on the job an adventurer came to the entrance of the tomb where I was posted. We went through the usual process where I asked him an impossible riddle, and when he failed I ate him. However, the bastard managed to lodge his sword into my fangs and I haven't been able to get it out since"

As if to make sure there was no doubt she opened her jaws and the explorer could clearly see a broken piece of steel jammed at the back of the cavernous maw.

"Say. Would you be so kind as to take it out? If you do I promise to help you get past my cousin, the big and mighty Sphinx".

The explorer stood there, pondering what to do. Thinking whether this was a riddle or not. Even if it wasn't, the wrong answer might be deadly.

"Don't worry, that's not a riddle. Tell you what, you don't have to answer. Just walk away if you want. My species is bound by ancient and sacred laws to not hurt seekers unless they guess incorrectly our puzzles".

She gave what amounted to a slight smile and then slowly opened her mouth.

The explorer didn't know what to do. Walking away might be seen as an offence, and even if he believed what she said about ancient laws he didn't know to what extent these would protect him.

Moreover, the explorer didn't know anything about dentistry.

But overall, he thought his chances were better if he helped out the Asphirinx. He might be able to pull out the shard by sheer force, and knowledge that would bring him closer to enter the sacred city would prove invaluable in his quest.

"Ok, here I go" he said, as he rolled up his sleeves and put on his thick hide gloves.

Hesitantly he reached inside the Asphirinx's mouth and grabbed the jagged metal with both hands. Thank God for opposable thumbs.

"Ready?" he asked

The Asphirinx nodded and shut her eyes. The explorer took a deep breath and, hoping this was not a mistake, pulled hard.

"Oooouch!" yelled the Asphirinx "that hurt!" But her eyes opened wide when she saw the broken sword tip in the explorer's hands. "Is... Is that it? Did you get all of it out?"

The explorer nodded. "yes, you only had this single piece jammed in there".

The Asphirinx roared, flapping it's wings in joy and relief. "I've never said this to a mortal, but thank you. I've had that damned shard embedded in my mouth for over 2000 years now. For this I owe you a debt I intend to repay. Is it still your wish to know how to answer my cousin's riddle?"

"Yes, that is still my desire. I need to get into the sacred city" said the explorer

The Asphirinx stopped to look at him, a mischievous smile took shape upon her face.

"Tut-tut, I thought you had more sense and understood the basic concept of dealing with a Sphinx: never answer any question!" she said, as she prowled towards the explorer "You see, I am the one and only SPHINX and you've just answered my riddle incorrectly. However, I won't kill you. I grow tired of living under these dead stones, always guarding something, never able to leave. I have a much better idea"

As quick as that her paw flew towards the explorer who shut his eyes and put his hands up in a futile attempt to protect himself.

And yet, nothing happened.

Slowly he opened his eyes and had a moment of vertigo. He was up, looking down at himself. "what the hell?" he thought. And looking further down he saw huge paws where he expected to find his feet. His mouth dropped.

"You see, as the Sphinx I had special powers to enforce whatever punishment I deemed appropriate" she said "so I did us both a favor. You'll get to be the might Sphinx, able to roam through these dry corridors to your heart's content, while I get go out into the world and be someone once again" she said with a triumphant smile "It's the perfect arrangement"

Seeing her smile on his face was an uncanny experience. He tried to speak but all that came out was a broken growl. His whole body started to wobble while his mind adjusted to the altered position of his preexisting limbs, and the presence of a few new ones.

"It's not a bad life you know? Being an immortal magical creature definitely has its perks." She said as she circled him "There's even the odd explorer that will come to visit every now and then."

The explorer, having regained some control over himself, fumbled for something to say "What do you mean you'll get to be someone once again?"

She smiled knowingly "oh no, you won't get me with the same trick" he didn't know what she was talking about "Remember, now you're the Sphinx, take care of your words" she turned and started walking towards the darkened corridor, leaving the torch abandoned on the floor.

"Au revoir my dear explorer, or should l say mighty sphinx?" she laughed as she turned to walk away and the musty corridors all around seemed to laugh with her. "Enjoy your time exploring these old bones, and be mindful of sword-carrying fools".