Quiet
As often as she would permit the children ran wildly about yelling with the abandon of those who far too rarely felt free to express such joy yet with the expertise of those who had clearly done so before. On other occasions, as her mood would dictate, their grand dream of disappearing into an oblivion unnoticeable and imperceptible to her wary eyes was stoked by the fire that she’d lashed before them with uncompromising harshness. Thus their youth was stained by the excesses of infrequent joy and the frequent longing for banishment from her very realm. Was it really her moodiness that stained their youth with the excesses of romp and rage? Or were there other influences at hand, as there almost always are?
She came to be, as most have, in an instant of shear elation and seemingly insurmountable trepidation. She wasted no time asserting herself. Hailing her beauty suitors came from near and far offering the finest of wares for her favor. There were few who failed to understand her allure; surely they are blinded by their veiled egos and self-interest. What price would she exact on them for their failed allegiance?
In her youth she had dealt with rift and ravine of her own creation. And as she matured, mindful of her willfulness, her suitors became less stricken by her charms. Taken aback by the imperfections of her kin and neighbor, distraught at the mere mention of more successful friends or foes, she secludes herself to self-examination and exploration. All to well this serves, as few suitors adored her still, and of those still pursuing her wares, it was not as it had seemed.
Returning to the current hour she is found ill mannered at best, intemperate with her own, isolated and clearly at ill ease with her neighbor, her children, and in her own skin. So the children strike out in the hour she looks away. The few suitors who remain are as apt to see the spoilage in her wares, as they are to smell their own. And those who have felt the sting of her fiery lash, no doubt stand on the ready to free her children, defend her foes and squash the smoldering flame of her hatred.
Are we prepared to quell the fiery whip and chain, to dampen her self-flagellation, and to welcome her children with open arms, damaged as they may be? Or shall we join the ranks of the foul smelling suitors blind to her ails as they are to the sparkle in her children’s eyes? She will sing a sultry song, a lullaby, and a ballad of bliss and balm. Her children know, and know so well, the quiet before the storm, and here again we consider the whisper of fair tidings, to quiet us all once again for her fury to be renewed. Will her renewed fury quiet us forever, or will we refuse her temptations and shout aloud against her will and aims?
