beautiful autumn day

Sorry! Again some sweet, sweet Sackson fluff … because … It must out off my mind, it’s Sackson and I need it!

Chicago, autumn 1900

Leaves were falling, were blown away by the wind; and the sun gave the last power for this beautiful autumn day.

Connor Judge walked up and down, stopped from time to time, frowned and shook his head.

This was the adequate behaviour for one who was impatiently waiting.

He knew that from his father. He had done the same at the time when the baby was delivered.

Connor also knew that one must rush into the room of happening at a certain point, but he had no idea when it was the right time to do this.

He sighed and glanced to his mother. “Mama, this waiting makes me weak. I need another biscuit to strengthen me”, he said in a serious tone.

Susan, sitting on a bench, the second child on her lap, nodded as permission for her son.

Connor didn’t hesitate. He went to the carriage beside the bench, rummage in the bag that was mounted on and finally found a biscuit. It was the last one. He put it out of the bag in the most discrete way, but he wasn’t lucky. The toddler realised the treasure of her brother and started grabbing after it.

Connor turned around. “It’s mine!” he said. “It’s not for babies.” The girl turned up her mouth, the eyed filled with tears and she began to cry.

Susan sighed. “Share it!”



His mother’s voice clearly insisted and did not condone any resistance. So, the boy broke the sweet in two pieces and handed grimly one of it to his sister who immediately was calm again. Then, he sat down beside is mother.

Susan wiped the tears and the snot off her daughter’s face.

For a short moment, she had a fresh looking child, before new snot ran out of the nose and slobber, mixed with biscuit crumbles, came out of the mouth.

Then, she looked down to Connor. The boy held the biscuit piece between his dirty little fingers, chewed silently. Crumbles spread on his plaid cotton shirt around the chocolate speck that remembered on the ice cream he had a few minutes ago.

‘It’s amazing! You can’t keep them clean and full. There’s always space for specks and food’, thought Susan, smiled and was thankful for the minute of distraction.

The door of the building on the opposite side of the street was still closed, silence, no movement, nobody around.

He had told them the approximate time when they should come to collect him, but this was over since nearly half an hour.  

Susan was nervous, even more when she saw somebody leaving the building.  

It was him.

He doesn’t look good.

Jackson’s head and shoulders hung down. He trotted slowly down the stairs, seemed to be exhausted.  

“Oh no”, whispered Susan. “He didn’t make it.”

Connor sprung off the bench, run to his father and took him by his hand. “Never mind, daddy’ he said comfortingly and guided him to the rest of the waiting family.

When he was close enough, Susan stroked his cheeks.  “Next time,” she said in the most optimistic way she could, but Jackson shook his head.

“No darlin’. It’s over.”

He didn’t look up, avoided to face her gaze.

“All these men in there … much younger than me … more educated … more intelligent.”

“Sush!” interrupted his wife. “I don’t want to hear that. You’re clever and smart and have more experience than all of these greenhorns. … If it shouldn’t be this time then it will be next time. … Furthermore, it is just a stupid piece of paper. It tells nothing about your abilities.”

Jackson declined.

“No. No. You must resign yourself. From now on, you …” - he lifted up his head that she could see his wide grin - “… will sleep with an examined doctor of medicine.”

Susan widened her eyes. “You mean …”

“Yes! I made it.” He laid his free arm around her waist.

“You tricked me”, said Susan in fake anger, but she was filled with happiness and pride. “Well then, Doctor Matthew Judge, let’s see if it is better to kiss a doctor than a quack.”

Connor rolled his eyes and groaned. He knew that hours and hours could pass by if his parents kissed each other … Boring! On the other hand … now, it was the best time to get away with favourable requests and inevitable confessions. So, he said:

“We must urgently buy biscuits and ice cream  … and the vase in the living room is broken.”

A True Geisha

My Dearest Son

Many years ago, there were good people like you. But now they are only a memory that will fade into oblivion. These times is when things are more difficult for us, and we must strive harder to reach greatness. 

Our traditions are strong and painful, but nothing pleases me more than seeing in what you have become now. A geisha.

Originally posted by eutana-siacardiaca

What should have been learned over the years, you learned it in the months.

The beauty you show us every night makes me shed tears of joy, and I can’t help but think of that little boy who was always running among the sea and told me anecdotes about our peculiar eyes.

The joys experienced by you are profound, so profound. Because being a man, you proposed to be the most honorable geisha of the family. 

With the art of music and dance, you accelerated the most indomitable hearts, as well as captivating many with the light whisper of your voice singing.

Originally posted by tsujinao

People clamor you, applaud you and give you their smiles, telling you how wonderful your debut, your show, your own art is supposed to be the flow of your feelings.

But you and I, my son, know how difficult the path of a geisha is. Because we are not courtesans, nor wives, we sell our skill and not our body. 

We create a secret world, where there is only beauty. The same word “geisha” means “artist”. And to become geisha is to be judged, as a work of art in movement.

Originally posted by eetkey

You paint your face to hide your face, your eyes are like the deep sea, the desire doesn’t exist for the geisha, the feeling doesn’t exist for the geisha.

The geisha is an artist of the ethereal world; she dances, sings, entertains everything other people wants. The rest are shadows, the rest is secret.

Agony and beauty go hand in hand, our feet will suffer, our fingers will bleed, and even sitting and sleeping will be painful.

But most importantly, you cannot consider yourself a true geisha until you have stopped a man with a single glance.

Nevertheless, when you prepare tea, when you serve sake, when you dance, when you tie the obi, prepare yourself for the most complicated and difficult art that you will experience in your life: Love.

My son, of the arts you have learned with pride, I am afraid it has not been enough to train you with the most inevitable. Turning in the path, without stopping the time, sings your heart because you wish to see. Earth, sun and moon, will teach you to love.

Because the wind will want to teach you to love.

Originally posted by gertieparr

The day you fall in love with someone special, always remember what our Ancestors said:

In spring, cherry blossoms.

Originally posted by kvnai

In summer, the song of the birds.

Originally posted by tana-the-dreamchaser

The moon of autumn.

Originally posted by halloweentreat

And the cold and white snow, in winter…

Originally posted by black-and-white-gifs

To man Geisha can only be a half wife, we are the wives of nightfall, and yet to learn of kindness after so much angerness, to understand that a little boy with more courague than he knew, would find his prayers were answered.

You cannot say to the sun More Sun. Or to the rain Less Rain.

It goes without saying that men can be as distinct from each other as the shrubs that bloom at different times of the year.

Otherwise, if by then, and only then, the love you profess to whom you chose as your lover has flourished and has given way to a great change, be sure that fate decided to unite both of you in life and death.

Do all you can, and the rest give it to Destiny.

Live life with all your strength, be proud of who you are, the honor you give to our family and Ancestors, and never let anyone else try to destroy you, because at the end they would be making an unforgivable mistake.

Originally posted by bunsies

And son, always remember that the human heart is like the reflection of the surface of the water, the mouth says things contrary to what the heart says, but in truth, the heart wants us to accept each other, even the people with bad intentions.

Love you Always


(Finally, my sweet @sammymationsart I saw your beautiful Geisha Jack and I couldn’t help myself but begin to write this madness, which I was also quite inspired by Memoirs of a Geisha)