The Blends

Shore woke first on the morning just before the truly ripe Harvest Moon. Dew was everywhere though few blades of prairie grass grew close-by for nibbling. It was times like these -- when the Wild in her nature could not be satisfied -- Shore was grateful for her human appetites.

There was an agreement made between the humans on the prairie land and "The Blends" as Shore's people were referred to. In exchange for a a place to keep a movable burrow of safety and shelter The Blends cared for the land bringing their brand of medicine-magic to the acreage that bordered a very busy asphalt highway. In many ways this prairie front was a Betwicks and Between world. Not fancy enough for the Mundane Mosts but neither was the Value of Wild applied with regularity, let alone reverence.

What is important to this story, Hillary Storm, is the fact Hand and Shore did live on the prairie front for this Harvest Moon.

Hillary Storm noticed the attention the storyteller paid to "did" live and "this" Harvest Moon, but, to help keep her promise about not interrupting, a soft but stout muzzle kept the girl from speaking. A promise is a promise.

So back to Shore's human appetite. The dew-moist morning meant it was cool and damp. Their burrow was built off the ground on a small trailer -- thanks to their father's human cleverness, practical nature, handy with tools and heavily influenced by their mother a fully wise Hare -- but, it was not artificially heated. To cook their food and warm their bodies The Blends shared the cozy and sufficiently equipped kitchen less than thirty steps from the trailered burrow. The arrangement worked exquisitely: Shore and her family had a key to unlock the kitchen door, used the cozy room when others did not, and were always neat and tidy about usage and cleanup.

While her brother Hand finished with his sleep and apparent zeal for a dream -- he was singing jolly tunes with his eyes shut tight-- Shore pulled a zippered hoodie over her nearly identical sandy colored self, slipped into a pair of black rubber boots and walked the twenty-eight steps to make a small pot of oatmeal. Since this was the morning prior to Feeding the Land, Share knew a little extra goodness would be just the thing to add. A handful of plump dried raisins sat in the pocket of her jacket.

With joy and the element of common magic the blended hare lifted the lid from the steaming oats, sprinkled the raisins one at a time and sang the song her father had taught them ... "Listen more often to things then to beings. Listen more often to things then to beings. Tis the Ancestors breath when the fire's voice is heard. Tis the Ancestors' breath in the voice of the water ..."


The moon has a pull on water, look here.