Together, on the silver chaise, very late at night.
You recline. I sit, perched on the rounded curve of its overstuffed edge.
Staring out the window at a tree strangely poised against the pinkish winter sky, I say,
"You know that secretary I 'inherited' from my ex-boyfriend's, acquaintance's grandmother?"
"The one in the basement of the house in Utah... with the ball & claw feet..."
(I swear that tree knows what I am talking about.)
After a moment,
Still fixed on the tree,
"I want something like that, but a little wider than a grandfather clock, with solid doors in place of the lattice & inside, places where surfaces unfold, like the desk, but different & places that cradle offering dishes like the one the Perrins sent me & I want to use the great big glass vanilla vials to hold flowers & I want to collect more baroque picture frames like the one with the painting of the Victorian lady & I would like to have drawers or a cabinet below but I don't know quite know how to keep The Changeling out..."
"In those frames, I want an image of each of the gods that have been with me in significant ways throughout my life... It's time."
You nod in acknowledgement.
"...starting with Thoth."
You understand, even though you were not there.
"...& there should be Fauna & Faunus & a place for Freyja's seeds..."
You agree, with a wry smile I know is for Freyja.
(Is the tree out there musing over Freyja too?)
Then, I feel myself struggle with the words, almost choking,
You snort softly, knowingly. You know He is the One I keep close, with much discomfort. I know, He is the One who waits at the end of the road.
You do not know how important He is, but you will. Soon. I promise.
I stop. You smile, waiting but not expecting.
There is a long pause.
"Ah... & Bacchus, of course."
And this is how shrines begin.
Well, this time, anyway.