“Ingredient incident” - A customer had asked what was in our signature “Meow burgers” and Krisp devolved into a four hour diatribe about the origins of “meat”
Had to dismiss employee after they were caught attempting to unionize the dumpster raccoons on shift for what I assume was a hostile takeover.
I think if I’m being honest, and self reflective, if I have one fault as the owner of the Yum Yum Hut it’s that I love TOO MUCH.
If you were to ask my employees about my faults however, I have a feeling they will complain about the persistent whippings and reverse benefit structure (they pay my health insurance).
I often dream of a Grove I do not recognize, trees growing tall and thick. This should be an old wood, but the nervous vibration of fresh sprouting is all around. I laugh aloud, they laugh too.
I dreamt of my mother again. She was smiling, tall and strong. I was just a cub. The soft furs where we sleep are so warm, but today is Spring, and we must plant.
I dreamt of a den last night. Dark, safe, dry, filled with family. Each one fit in each of their places, nestled against the next. The wind and rain howled, but couldn't touch them.
I had the wolf dream again the other night. Running, soft earth churned by paws, sweet summer night air, full moon above. Not a pack of many, but two. Beasts of the same blood.
You were with me, step for step. Howling, I feel our voices ringing out as one in that old music, moving freely as wind over mountains, seas, & wood.
Suddenly a hitch in our wild tempo. Only you lose pace. I cry out, you look away, smiling. The winter moon is red above. No stars. The scent of blood fills my senses. Yours.
It is a perpetual autumn here. I smell the seasons but I only ever see the turning colors. Animals are slow to come here, but they do. Nesting and burrowing. I could too, they say.
This is not the Grove of my birth, but they beckon to me as an old home. They have been waiting for me, growing tall and strong. They call me Mother. They ask me to sit with them awhile.
She tills the soil, I fetch our seeds from their slumbering places. She sings as she sews them. I cover each. When they drink, she says they sing too. I cannot hear them yet.
As I watched them, a cry from outside seeping in. One has been left out. Wailing, he tries to get in, but there is no room. The rain and wind whips against him, over and over. They do not stir.
All at once the storm clears, sun breaking the clouds. The little one turns to look, light shining on him so brilliantly beautiful. Even so, the family won't see him from the safe dark den.
Vars-Melis: High-gloss, low word count. Those brass wings may be membrane-thin but they outshine even the baleful daystar. May His scales remain untarnished.
Maelith and Mielikki: While the natural world is a distracting oil-slick shimmer atop the silent black sea of reality, every deity needs a domain, and plants are more interesting than say, doorways (looking at you, Janus).
Yet everything I know of the glittering dragon king comes straight from the big boy whom He inhabits—which is curious, having even been to the city-seat of His worship.
These goddesses were misunderstood as enemies, then acknowledged as lovers lost. Maelith was hated, then welcomed. Is my own review a conflict of interest, or does it say exactly what a potential worshipper would want to know:
Atheism: The belief that no belief is better than any belief: ontological ouroboros. A thought-möbius to rotate in the small hours.
