The Fallen Silk

autumnal dawn

Effie woke before dawn, rubbing her eyes and stretching. The cottage was dark, and the forest beyond the windows and walls and doors was silent as she tied her robe around her waist and descended the stairs to the kitchen. The logs in the stove were still warm, and there were a few red coals left from the night before – she loaded a fair sized log and a handful of kindling into the belly of the stove and stoked the coals until a gentle flame roared to life. Placing a full kettle of water on one of the burners, she turned and rested her hands on the thin strip of counter in front of the sink.

She remembered the way her mother had tiptoed into her room, a warm cup of tea in her hands and a song on her lips:

Dawn greets the day,
Sparkles of sunshine,
Rays pour down through the trees,
My senses come alive,
They are moments to be enjoyed,
My life to be lived.
When the sun rises above the horizon,
The sky bathed in golden light,
A calmness settles over my soul;
I think of you,
My little angel,
And all the moments
That you have brought light into my life.
My heart sends love to you
And feels your love in every gentle hug;
Your smiling face,
Your ringing laughter,
A sunrise every morning in your shimmering eyes.

Effie hummed the melody, remembering how it felt to wake up to her mother's soft voice whispering the lyrics, how comforting it was to open her eyes and see Theola's smile. She fought back tears as the memories faded from her mind, overtaken by the sound of the kettle whistling and the mewling from the living room.

She poured the hot water into her cup and left it on the counter to steep – Nimbus found her sleepy way into the kitchen and sat just inside the doorway, her eyes still half closed.

'Someone looks like she needs a warm pocket and some poetry.' Effie giggled, swooping the kitten into her arms and kissing her on the nose. Nimbus sneezed against the kiss but let out a powerful purr as she nuzzled under Effie's chin.

Cup and kitten and book of poetry in hand, Effie unlocked the back door and slipped onto the porch. She settled into the deck chair and propped her feet on the railing, letting the cup sit on the small table at her side. She opened the book to a random page and rubbed her cheek against Nimbus' side, whispering to the kitten the poem she had found:

A dented spider like a snow drop white
On a white Heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of lifeless satin cloth -
Saw ever curious eye so strange a sight? -
Portent in little, assorted death and blight
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth? -
The beady spider, the flower like a froth,
And the moth carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,
The blue prunella every child's delight.
What brought the kindred spider to that height?
(Make we no thesis of the miller's plight.)
What but design of darkness and of night?
Design, design! Do I use the word aright?

As she turned the page and continued reading poems to her companion, the sun shot its first rays through the trees, casting odd and somewhat terrifying shadows over the ground. She had sat with her mother, only two years before, in that same spot, watching the sun rise and reading the same poetry. There had been a time, once, that the day after the Autumn Celebration brought joy and a deep reverence in Effie for the seasonal shift and the land around her – but this dawn, sitting on the porch without Theola, seemed to inspire only pain and mourning.

Nimbus seemed to sense Effie's emotional change and she stood on her chest just to nibble on her nose in that gentle yet playful way that kittens do. This show of trust and love brought a gentle laugh from Effie, and she gave the kitten another kiss on the nose.

'I'm all right, baby. I just miss her so much.' She ran her hand over the felines back and stared at the trees as the sun reached through the trunks.

***

She must have fallen asleep – Effie opened her eyes to the mid-morning light and heard the birds in the trees and the soft humming of the late-season bees. Nimbus had moved down to her lap, and she reached her arms out in sleep, releasing her claws to tell Effie not to move. With a soft laugh, she rubbed the tip of her finger on the bridge of the kitten's nose and hummed in appreciation of the adorable ball of fur in her lap.

The sound of a snapping twig drew her attention away from her companion and to the far left side of the yard. There, bare feet caked in mud and a white dress tattered and torn, stood the same woman from the orchard. Her arm was stretched out in an invitation, and her eyes darted over the lawn, left and right and centre again, as if she were anxious about her surroundings.

Effie lifted Nimbus from her lap, and in the most gentle manner possible, placed the still sleeping feline on the chair. She closed her book and left it beside her tea, only half gone since she had fallen asleep. As she descended the stairs of the porch, the woman took a step back – with every step Effie took, the woman moved deeper into the forest, until she was running down the path. Effie followed, taking off at a full sprint, her intention to catch up with the strange woman. It seemed that, no matter how hard she pushed herself, Effie was always a few steps out of reach of the woman.

Effie watched as the woman disappeared around a bend in the path, and there, at the end, was the wispy grass of clearing. She could not see the strange woman, but noticed that the clearing was the same one from her first day at the cabin. Hesitating only slightly, Effie picked her way into the clearing and saw nothing – the woman was gone, and in her place sat a water-logged, leather-bound journal surrounded by small patches of blue and mauve Asters. She took a few slow steps toward the book, but found herself apprehensive of the object – there was something in the air that inspired suspicion in her mind, and she turned in place to ensure that she was, indeed, alone in the clearing. Satisfied, Effie bent to retrieve the book and found it heavy with water and sagging under the weight of itself.

The woman did not appear to her again – not in the moments she spent in the clearing, breathing in the crisp air, and not in the time it took her to walk back to her porch. Nimbus had remained on the chair, though she had woken while Effie was in the forest.

Effie to a last, long look at the entrance to the forest path, hoping to catch a glimpse of the strange woman, but there was nothing. With a final breath, she ascended the stairs and opened the back door and took her cup, the book of poetry, and the journal inside, followed by Nimbus.