mindlovemisery’s menagerie photo challenge 31, liberty: Thy Liberty

Liberty 31

Catrin Welz Stein

Thy Liberty

If you would give me thy liberty

I would give thee moonbeams to tie up thine hair

I would give thee pearls for decoration

I would give thee stars for highlights

I would give thee clouds for softening

I would give thee a white dove to bring back strands to me

written for mindlovemisery’s menagerie photo challenge 31, liberty

# owsatnite@8, oops!

As I was cleaning the bathroom yesterday afternoon, it came to me I hadn’t included a witticism or epigram by OW.

My favourite, although it turns out, not exactly as written first in The Picture of Dorian Gray or a later version in Lady Windermere’s Fan.

I always knew the phrase thusly:

I can resist everything but temptation itself.

The narrator was tempted to see just what keep roomie home that night. My stretched link between post and missing OW quote. And why I eat ice cream for breakfast!

 

 

tale weaver’s prompt 30, pandora’s box: Great-Aunt Esmeralda and the secret box

Pandora's Box Wikipedia

 

In response to Tale Weaver’s Prompt 30 Pandora’s Box, I have for your amusement:

Great-Aunt Esmeralda and the Secret Box

Great-Aunt Esmeralda had barely turned to sand, when the horde, also known as my family (they would put fear in Genghis Khan’s heart!), arrived with their shovels; metal detectors, charms for finding things; spells to stop someone from finding things.

Wands; magic hammers; singing saws; and a stud would was good at locating treasure (oops); treasure dowsing sticks.

After a couple of hours of entertainment, I ambled into town to get a coffee. My barista said, “You don’t look too concerned about the doings up on the hill.”

“Nah, I replied. “Keeps ‘em busy, and no flights to the death like the last family gathering.”

Besides, I thought, the house needed a renovation (too full of ghosts), and neither of us could ever get the right spell to remove grubs from the lawn.

They were looking for the famous “secret box” supposedly won by my great-great-great grandfather times 10 in a Runish game of chance.

Being a secret box, no one knew exactly what it looked like and what it contained. The box come be found only when the holder became sand.

My favourite painting in the house hung in Great-Aunt Esmeralda’s bedroom; a child’s room with scattered toys, the wind just barely moving the white sheer curtains, and the gorgeous shades of light that spread through the room.

At her request, I climbed on a chair and touched the plain building block among others richly carved in exotic woods. The  building block sprung open. Inside was a small, plain wooden box, easily overlooked as the secret box.

The contents: a small parchment tied with aging string. I carefully unrolled it. Written in Runish, Oldish, and a language I didn’t recognize. I ran my finger over the Oldish script.

Written on the scroll was: “There are no true secrets.”

Not to worry though. I had delivered the painting to a prominent museum where it hangs, a previously unknown work by a very famous painter.

I sat on what was left of the porch. Too bad Great-Aunt Esmeralda wasn’t here to enjoy the show.