Men like monkeys (though that’s not fair on monkeys), hunched up in a line almost ready for a firing squad.
They squint at the task in front of them, one they have seen over and over again. Gone are the days where they can see the work with fresh eyes.
Apart from one.
This man has learnt the art of staring into the middle distance. The space between where things become grey and start to collide.
This grey, this middle ground gives new colour to the gems and metals on the bench before him. He keeps this a secret. Something special that he holds close to his mind. The thing that he feels separates him from the ever-running treadmill of time and the need for hard coin.
The others see him as somewhat slow, perhaps even queer. But his work was of the finest quality, highly prized, an understanding of the subtlety of the stones being worked.
2. The Lovers
Standing on the inner crust of the earth, feet bare, only just avoiding a volcanic overflow, two humans converse with the Goddess of the Earth.
In whispering tones, open palmed, they seek knowledge beyond their ordinary beginnings.
They quest for a closeness, not only between themselves, and the Goddess, but the land they have chosen to call home. The sand, stone, mud, below and around, old in all terms of time.
She looked left and saw a vision of a once loved man suspended, hanging before her. Thoughts of his betrayal, by accident or design. With him she leaves a home, a steadiness, and a space in which the familiar gave off a warm glow.
She looked right, a bright disc spins before her, seductive yet overwhelming with its speed. She knows with this comes challenge, yet the newness and possibilities will be what gets her past the betrayal.
She knows the path she must take, and under a blue sky with soft luminous clouds takes a brave stride out onto a new world.
4. The Owl, the Cat, the Sun, Temperance, and the Wheel of Fortune
The Owl and the Cat went on a journey in the height of summer to be baked by the Sun. It was a sweaty ride with their bodies close and legs clasped around their steed.
They took provisions of water and honey shared out between fine gold chalices stowed away safely in leather saddle bags.
The Owl, known for his superior baritone, looked up on the first night to see the moon bright and clear, opened his beak, and rather than a song, let out the most majestic howl that echoed round the stony valley.
That majestic howl caught something at the centre of Cat’s heart, who knew this was the moment to take destiny in hand, cast caution to the four corners of the world and degree unbridled love for Owl.
Standing at a threshold, one foot over, one behind. The sky hammering down drop after drop of rain. It smells, damp but sweet, and it is that smell that finally draws my body from hovering between the door frame.
It really is wet, time to puddle jump. Puddles I don’t recognise though I know this path well. In my hand I can feel the weight of the task that bought about this journey. The substance rustles, almost crunching, unlike the squelching of my boots on the ground.
It becomes apparent that the final puddle to be navigated is too deep for unwellied legs. I must choose a slightly different route. I verge a little to the left. Soft ground. Big gaps. What shall I call this new game? Mud jumping? Muddle jumping?
I unfurl the object hanging from my left fingers and pour a bagful of silver stars into the bin.
Online Workshop : Tarot for Creative Writing: Major Arcana : Run by Kym Deyn : Hosted by The Portico Library