Songs and Roses

You sing to me to leave my regrets
behind, in the shadows cast by
my past, and friends left behind.

The stained glass of your monastery
changes your silver robes to shimmering
rainbows, and you shine with Light, my love.

Your songs fill my dreams
with peace, and pale rose petals
unfurling, these are flowers of hope.

My Sunday So Far…

What I was going to do: a tarot reading to check in and see how things are going in the Otherworld

What I got: told that I’m seen as totally human Here, and to stop certain habits that help supply my anxiety that everything is going to blow up in my face

A Shared Dream of Blindness

My Love, you have no eyes now
and you lean on me for sight;
even in my own blindness,

I guide you through our home–
you know it perfectly well, but to
lose your sight again cuts deep.

Even in this dream state, I feel your
anguish at something so precious lost;
Blind King, you will see again when you wake.

WIP Wednesday, Simple Gifts Scarf

I’ve found that I like having two knitting projects going at once; one that’s somewhat mindless so I can watch TV or listen to music while working on it, and one that’s more complex.

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This one is–despite the first section being garter stitch, and the second being stockinette–my more complex project (the easy one is a gift for a family member Here.) The yarn is an amazingly soft merino/silk/baby alpaca blend, and it’s my first “high end” yarn purchase.  I am in love with this yarn, not only does it feel wonderful to knit with, the fabric is just as soft as the yarn.

The pattern is the Beginner’s Stitch Sampler Scarf [link] and Jake was the one who chose the pattern.  The pattern has been modified slightly so that each square is slightly less than 6 inches long (I did this because I only have two skeins of this yarn) but I like the perfect squares so far.

Right now I’m at the basket weave stitch section, which is a new stitch to me.  I try to learn something new with every knitting project, and this pattern requires learning three new stitches.  So far I am loving this project.

Light of Home

Light plays across the puzzle you’re
working on, and you laugh as I tease you,
that you’re in Dracula cosplay mode.

This is a place where we are not Kings
we are simply Beloveds, and that is all
that matters, in this moment, this dream.

This is where we’re meant to be,
in the light of the library fire, and
our daughter asleep in our arms.

Follow My Voice (Be My Eyes)

The explosion had not come in the middle of the night–that would have made it a cliche, this disaster–but during the middle of the day.  There had been an explosion and the sound of a shriek, followed by a rush to clean up the immediate fire and glass before the entire basement was burning.

It was when one of them fell to his knees with his hands covering his face, that the true extent of what happened became apparent.


During the times his Beloved could not speak, the violin became his guide.

He had asked for a song, one autumn evening–the paperwork had come back, a potential experimental procedure that he was qualified for, and he needed to take his mind off all the fear and hope that was rolling around in his stomach.  He felt hands grasp his own, and his Beloved began to sign.

Do you want to try playing, he paused, or should I?

“You do it, I simply want to listen.”

I’ll be back.  There was the sound of footsteps on the porch, then the screen door closing softly.  There was a pause, the door opening, and the footsteps returning again.  There was a clunk and the sounds of a violin case being opened, and the instrument being unwrapped.

“You need to tune first,” he said.

Whatever dry comment may have been made in the pause was lost as a single screeching note filled the air.  There were three more off-key notes, each in rapid succession, each one making him wince.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it,” he asked, “since you’ve played?”  He leaned back against the porch swing, holding out his hands as his Beloved began signing again.

Yes.  The pause that followed lasted too long to be comfortable.  I…was composing a piece, when your experiment exploded.

“Darling, I didn’t know….”

Let me!  The words were signed too quickly, his Beloved’s hands shaking slightly even as the words were formed.  Let me play for you.  Please.

“Of course.”

A single slow, mournful note filled the air.  It shifted into a second, a higher cry of longing.  The piece was discordant, a display of all the empty spaces between them, of all that had happened before and since those tragedies.


He remembered his Beloved in a hospital room, utterly broken beyond repair, slipping away into what he had thought was his true death.  But the Land and the Far Ones had brought him back, and his rage upon waking was only stunted by the Land’s energy rolling through him, refusing to let him go.

Darkness must like its King.  The first words he signed were bitter, sarcastic.  His scars–what would be his scars–were glowing, spilling golden light.  His golden eyes were filled with rage.

The room had been completely dark, the curtains and blinds pulled for privacy.  He had slipped away into death late in the evening after the doctors had left, but now he was breathing and his Heart was beating.

It was dawn, and the King’s life had begun yet again.


They were no longer by the sea, no longer in that cramped white room, but the song that his Beloved played on his violin held those memories.

“Was that what you were working on,” he asked.  “They day I…lost my eyes?”

No, that…was something happier.  The violin case was closed, and he felt a hand resting on his shoulder.  He leaned into the touch, and warm arms enveloped him.


The click of his cane on the tiled floor echoed.  He hoped he would no longer need it, but giving it up right away would be like suddenly losing his watch, awkward and constantly feeling like he was forgetting something.

He could, at least, detect the light from behind his closed eyes.  His new eyes.  It felt strange, these wires and bandages, but there was a promise of hope as well.

There was a loud clunk when his cane hit the door, and he paused.

“Do you want me to get that,” his Beloved asked.

“Could you?”

“Of course.”

He could hear the door opening, could feel the rush of wind on his face.  He reached up and slowly, gently, removed the bandages that were covering his eyes.  Slowly, he opened his eyes.

He was standing in the dim corridor of the Singing Halls, not out in the full sunlight.  His Beloved was leaning against an apple tree, watching him quietly.  His Beloved stepped forward and held out a hand, the mosaic design on his shirt shimmering in the sunlight.  He took his Beloved’s hand, and was drawn out into the sunlight.

Anyone Want Some Yarn?

I have five balls of Rowan felted tweed [link] yarn to give away.  It’s lovely yarn, a bit rougher than some others I’ve worked with, but knits up very soft.  Due to being associated with a family member that passed away (the yarn was for a project that was going to be a gift for for him) I can’t keep it anymore, due to painful associations.

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Each ball of yarn is 191 yards, making this around 955 yards total.  There’s one ball of yarn I’ve used part of, but not very much; however, I’m unsure of the weight of that ball, or exactly how much yarn is left.

The yarn is a DK weight, and knits up very soft.  It’s a blend of wool, alpaca, and rayon.  It has a felted effect when it’s knitted, and has a tweed-y texture to it.  It’s a deep red, almost rust colored, with flecks of blue and white in it.

I’ll happily send the yarn to whoever wants it, or trade for another yarn if anyone wants to set up something like that.  Either comment here or email me (between.stars.unknown@gmail.com) if you’re interested.

Knitting, Estrangement, and Grief

I have about 550 yards of red yarn, and…I’m facing a problem with it.

You see, it was going to be a poncho dedicated to [the Dreamer’s father.]  Magically, it was going to function as a sort of shield, and a reminder that [this deity] cared for me.

My Spouse and his father became estranged two years ago, the type of estrangement there’s no going back from (in support of my Beloved, I cut all contact with [this deity] as well.)  In August of 2018, we received word that [this deity] had passed away, which brought up a lot of mixed feelings for us all (especially the manner of his death, which was awful.)

I don’t know what to do with the yarn, but I know that making the poncho is out of the question.  I’m not sure if I’m even *ready* to use it, but I wanted to write this (and ask if anyone has ideas) while it was on my mind.