late hehehe


the best thing that ever happened


Henry & Amber ~ like brother & sister

Eeewww….dont touch me!…lolol

It had been going just fine. Honestly, there should have been no reason for it to backfire. Yet there he was, quietly mixing potion ingredients in the courtyard, unaware of what was about to happen. It had taken some time to get the ingredients needed, and he was certain he was on to something. So when he put in the pinch of his next piece, he was startled when it exploded in his face with a loud pop that echoed in the courtyard.

ozark gothic

-the mountains are everywhere. they surround like a cage. there is no horizon line. sky sinks into the tops of the mountains. they are endless, even underfoot, yet somehow you always seem to be in a valley.

-there is a book, an old book, that has captured all the stories of the pioneers and settlers who live here. their stories sound familiar, as if you have heard them all before, and the drawings of faces seem to follow you as you turn the page. you could have sworn you saw that old woman in town the other day, but that’s impossible; she’s ninety in this drawing. 

-you remember then that no one dies of old age here. they just wither and sink into the ground. 

-the rocks are all hollow, but so so heavy. the hills are riddled with caves. you do not want to go in, but something soft and as hollow as the space before you calls you deeper. your grandfather walked this way after all, and you must too.

-the colors are brilliant. unnaturally vivid. crystal perfect greens in summer shades of green that don’t have names. the woods exploded with pink and white blooms in spring. the mountains in the distance are variegated always in fall with turning leaves. even in winter the snow is broken with brown wood and grey stone. you have heard there are places where everything looks the same. you do not wish to leave this place to find out. 

- you saw a plain once. it was unsettling. you will not return to that place. 

-”when i was your age,” the old folks say from their rocking chairs, “we had to walk uphill to get anywhere. both ways.” you roll your eyes, but you believe them. you had to walk uphill to get to their home. you must walk uphill to get back. there is only one direction and that is up. 

-your whole family is here. your family has been here for generations. all the generations are here. you visit the graveyard and speak to their ghosts once a month. graveyards are all happy places, and all the ghosts know you by name. there is one cousin who escaped the mountains. you do not speak of him except in hushed tones, as if of the recent dead. 

-there are many farmers. there are few fields. the dirt is not dirt, but finely ground rock. nothing should grow here, and yet somehow everything does. 

-you call spring storm season, and any other twisters are “unusual for this time of year.” this is just for show. storm season never ends. 

-when you speak to outsiders your speech betrays you. there are no y’alls of the south or fixin’s of the west. you speak in the voice of the thousand rivers that run through the mountains. mark twain almost captured it, but his river speech is the wrong river. 

-sometimes you walk into appalachia, but when you turn around again you are home in the ozarks. you make sure to turn quickly before your sister mountains recognize you as lost. 

-there was magic here, running through rivers and bubbling up through springs and echoing in caves and rolling downhills, when your great grandparents were small. tourists speak of it and ask questions. you shrug and laugh and say “not anymore.” this is a lie; it is still there, but you cannot speak of it today. it must hide from outside eyes. 

-if you stand still in the woods you can hear the sound of ancient fiddles floating down on the wind. someday you must add to this song, or your bones will not take to soil. 

-”these are not mountains,” people say and laugh in your face. “these are hills. they are too small to be mountains.” oh how little they know. oh how little they know.