myth for jimsonweed

An older man did not wake up one morning in the limestone quarry. He could not survive eating nothing but bread. His bones were brittle and his muscles were weak from working long days in the yellow fields.

He smelled like grass. Wind rushed through the lanced leaves in the fields. Even they wept. For they, too, were tiring.

Sweetie went to the funeral. She brought a basket that she made with her stiff new hands. Some brought food. Some brought stories. In the basket they put all of the man’s things. He was loved by them. They gave each item a name.

That night the moon was heavy like cream.

Sweetie’s grandmother made Sweetie a big meal. Her voice was becoming weaker all the time. “Time is like an accordion. You can tell by the moon. There was a time when this place was so very cold that we used to bask under the warmth of even the full moon’s light.”

She went on. “There was a warrior who went to the top of the mountain to find the moon and ask her if she would stay. She did not, but she sent down her goddesses in long white skirts a dark dark hair. They had a way of speaking that was confusing, and anyone who came across them left them and they were altered. They’re still here somewhere, you know. You need to find them. We need to change this place.” Sweetie’s grandmother said. “It may be difficult, confusing. But we need to change where we are. That man’s death was strange, like nothing I’ve seen before. It was not right. Find a goddess of the moon and ask her to change us. Follow the road of the moon, and use this knife, Sweetie, I know you will need it on your journey. I name it, it is yours. For some time, we need the night, the true night.” Her grandmother handed her the knife though her hands were barely strong enough to carry it, so worn she was by preparing food for her granddaughter.

Sweetie thought of her mother throwing the knife at the tree every morning and wondered if that was a gift from her grandmother.

So Sweetie left the following night, by the light of the moon, walking by the silent glowing field. She looked behind her at the town’s edge and saw a pale man, arms in his pockets like a monk or hooded spirit, following her. A shiver ran down her spine but she kept walking. After hours it seemed, she found herself back in town. All day she slept in a hidden bramble of cat brier.

This happened to her the second night as well. She returned back to where she had started.

On the final night, she took a knife and turned and let the moon light it. The figure stepped back and she approach.

He had the face of the dead man.

“I know how to find the goddess of the moon. The dead are told when they go through the ocean. The goddesses of the moon live by the jimsonweed.” He handed her a pure white flower. His hand smelled rotten and the flower smelled beautiful. “Try not to get lost." He warned. Even though he was dead, there was fear in his voice. “This flower may help.”