It Starts Now...

     Today I had an amazing day. One lunch with a few people I'm happy to call friends, and it's seriously become a core memory. They're people I've spent time with for 7 months this year, 2 hours every 2 weeks. I look forward to those 2 hours, and do my best to make that time even with all the chaos in my life.

    4 of the 5 of us was able to get together for lunch this afternoon, and it was a blast. I was worried it would be awkward outside of our bi-weekly meetings, but it was the total opposite. They're people I can mesh with, and yet we're seriously all over the place with background and age. I honestly think that's a big part of why we get along so well. 

    Every one of us is looking forward to getting together again, most especially with our missing 5th. And there are always our meetings. But one of the joyful things that came out of the lunch today for me was being able to share my artwork and a story with them and really not fear being judge. That's huge, especially when I judge myself so harshly. 

    But on to positive things. Below is the sketch and the little story that went with it, both created during Inktober of 2015. I hope you enjoy it.

    A little boy walked long and far into the forest, always careful to stay on the path like his grandmother said. He had left home at dawn's light, and now the sun was high above him as he finally stopped in front of the great oak tree. Most of the sun's warming rays had been stolen by the greedy branches and leaves overhead, though the boy had smartly dressed in warm, woolen clothes. The oak, dark brown and scarred, was so tall the branches above were shrouded in darkness, the trunk before him bigger around than all of the villagers holding hands in a circle. He careful removed two objects from his pocket, sat down below the tree facing it, and waited.

    He waited for what seemed like an eon, though it was really only a few minutes before he heard the rustling of wings in the air above him. His grip tightened on the two objects in his hand. The flap of wings grew louder until a great black and white crow with a smote of red on its breast landed on the lowest branch of the tree, which was still a good 20 feet or so above the boy's head.

    "What do you want, boy," it croaked and cawed, grumbling out the words in miserly fashion.

    "For my father to return. My mother is very sad, and I try to help but there is so much work to do." The crow said nothing, only watched the boy with his black, liquid eyes. It flapped its wings idly, catching the wind a bit before settling back down again.

    "What have you brought me?" Asked the crow.

    "A ring of gold."

    "And what is a ring of gold to a crow," it asked. The boy thought, quiet for a moment.

    "Rings are for trapping, ensnaring, chasing. They have neither beginning nor end. You may pledge on one for love. They are a sound in your ear, or a place of magic." The crow nodded it's black head.

    "Good. Good. What is the second gift?"

    "A silver key," said the boy, his palms sweating so that he gripped the shiny key tightly.

    "And what is a key to a crow?"

    "A key guides you on a map, plays a sound that is soothing or jarring. It holds everything together, but when it's missing everything may tumble down. A key will open what it may also close." The crow preened it's feathers after the boy finished, puffing them up before settling back down again.

    "I do not see a third gift, boy. For a gift from me there must be three. What is your third gift?" The boy kneeled down in the dirt and carefully placed the key and the ring at the foot of the tree before standing up and stepping back, brushing the dirt away from his pants. He looked up at the crow, took a deep breath and spoke calmly.

    "I bring you the story of how my father came upon this ring and key, how he lost them, and how I found them again."

    "Ahhhhh," said the crow. "Indeed." He leaned forward, liquid eyes gleaming blackly. "Tell me a story."