Where did Nonny find one just the same? She remembered something about the plant from one of her books. Over a hundred years ago, back in the Victorian Era, the plant was nicknamed “lady’s eardrops.” It fits. They look like old-fashioned dangling earrings. But I’m sure it’s not the same plant that Mom bought. It would have grown too large. She touched one of the velvety flowers and it swayed.
Thinking of her mom and how they’d taken care of the chickens together brought an emptiness that Nonny could never fill, no matter how great it was to see her again. Zera directed her attention back toward the chickens. It’s funny that they didn’t cackle when I came in. Normally, their feathers would be ruffled when someone unfamiliar entered their territory. But they’re acting as if they remember me too, just like Merlin did, as if I’d never left.
Zera turned to leave. Behind her the blossoms on the fuchsia vibrated and swayed, all on their own, excited by an unknown energy.
Shutting the door to the chicken house, Zera headed to the barn. Out of sight, on the vine-covered side of the chicken house, something stirred. A green countenance, a male face made of leaves, an entity both human and vegetable, watched Zera. The face of leaves wore an expression of kindness and gentleness, ancient wisdom and ancient songs, songs older to the world than the human race. The Green Man smiled.
Zera stopped, turned around. Was that . . . a face? No, silly . You’re just jumpy, imagining things, because it feels so unreal to be home! But she definitely heard something, felt something. A faint murmur in the leaves and grass, a tender rustling of leaves in the breeze, and the distinct feeling of being watched. She looked all around her, strained to listen. A voice, voices even. I can almost hear them. Almost. That particular sensation of being watched by a loving gaze was one she knew. She’d experienced the sensation many times as a child, often while playing outside. And each time she would look up to find her dad, or mom, or both, watching from a window, or elsewhere.
She turned around expectantly, and searched the windows of the house. Blind eyes reflected light, but there was no one there. She turned to the vine-covered coop, blinked. It’s just leaves, you weirdo. Wow, it’s not like me to be spooked by chickens, a fuchsia. She took a deep breath, rubbed her goose bump-covered arms . It’s getting late, the temperature’s dropping. I’m freaking out from being back home; I’m imagining all these things. It’s because I’m wishing Mom and Dad were here, too.
Shaking it off, Zera made her way to the barn, walked around, peeked in the windows, and then headed back.
Relaxing again on the porch swing before bedtime, watching a nearly full moon rise above the mountains, Zera asked her grandmother how everything managed to stay the same.
“Honey, your mother and father had a lot of friends in this small town, people who truly loved them, and who love us. While we were away, those friends saw to it that everything was taken care of. They continue to help me out a lot. And Hattie Goodacre has been a godsend.”
“Mom always loved Hattie,” said Zera, imagining the tall, exuberant woman. “She was her best friend.”
“Hattie keeps this property up, now, as far as the plants. She comes for half a day on Saturday, usually with Ben, if he doesn’t have school work.”
Zera nodded.
“And of course you remember Cosmic Dan?” said Nonny. “Well, anytime I need house repairs, he’s there. You would not believe the love that surrounded me when I returned home and the support I’ve had these three years. Incredible.”
It was nearly midnight when Zera and Nonny went to bed.
Zera kissed her grandmother goodnight and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. It, too, was exactly as she left it. One side of the room had a reading and study area with a computer. On the floor in front of the bookshelves her father
Thinking of her mom and how they’d taken care of the chickens together brought an emptiness that Nonny could never fill, no matter how great it was to see her again. Zera directed her attention back toward the chickens. It’s funny that they didn’t cackle when I came in. Normally, their feathers would be ruffled when someone unfamiliar entered their territory. But they’re acting as if they remember me too, just like Merlin did, as if I’d never left.
Zera turned to leave. Behind her the blossoms on the fuchsia vibrated and swayed, all on their own, excited by an unknown energy.
Shutting the door to the chicken house, Zera headed to the barn. Out of sight, on the vine-covered side of the chicken house, something stirred. A green countenance, a male face made of leaves, an entity both human and vegetable, watched Zera. The face of leaves wore an expression of kindness and gentleness, ancient wisdom and ancient songs, songs older to the world than the human race. The Green Man smiled.
Zera stopped, turned around. Was that . . . a face? No, silly . You’re just jumpy, imagining things, because it feels so unreal to be home! But she definitely heard something, felt something. A faint murmur in the leaves and grass, a tender rustling of leaves in the breeze, and the distinct feeling of being watched. She looked all around her, strained to listen. A voice, voices even. I can almost hear them. Almost. That particular sensation of being watched by a loving gaze was one she knew. She’d experienced the sensation many times as a child, often while playing outside. And each time she would look up to find her dad, or mom, or both, watching from a window, or elsewhere.
She turned around expectantly, and searched the windows of the house. Blind eyes reflected light, but there was no one there. She turned to the vine-covered coop, blinked. It’s just leaves, you weirdo. Wow, it’s not like me to be spooked by chickens, a fuchsia. She took a deep breath, rubbed her goose bump-covered arms . It’s getting late, the temperature’s dropping. I’m freaking out from being back home; I’m imagining all these things. It’s because I’m wishing Mom and Dad were here, too.
Shaking it off, Zera made her way to the barn, walked around, peeked in the windows, and then headed back.
Relaxing again on the porch swing before bedtime, watching a nearly full moon rise above the mountains, Zera asked her grandmother how everything managed to stay the same.
“Honey, your mother and father had a lot of friends in this small town, people who truly loved them, and who love us. While we were away, those friends saw to it that everything was taken care of. They continue to help me out a lot. And Hattie Goodacre has been a godsend.”
“Mom always loved Hattie,” said Zera, imagining the tall, exuberant woman. “She was her best friend.”
“Hattie keeps this property up, now, as far as the plants. She comes for half a day on Saturday, usually with Ben, if he doesn’t have school work.”
Zera nodded.
“And of course you remember Cosmic Dan?” said Nonny. “Well, anytime I need house repairs, he’s there. You would not believe the love that surrounded me when I returned home and the support I’ve had these three years. Incredible.”
It was nearly midnight when Zera and Nonny went to bed.
Zera kissed her grandmother goodnight and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. It, too, was exactly as she left it. One side of the room had a reading and study area with a computer. On the floor in front of the bookshelves her father
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