Believe

There was a wildness in her that no one understood. The pressure would build up and she'd have to do something to release it; she couldn't explain it, wouldn't take the time to think about it, didn't dare try to stop it once it started. It was the only thing that had ever worked; it was the only way she knew to be herself.

She alternated between pacing wildly and staring at the wall. She was disappearing in here; soon there would be nothing left of her. She'd tried to comply, tried to wait them out, but they were not as trusting as they had been. They wanted change, and if she changed, she knew she was lost. Control was her only weapon.

"Believe," her mother whispered into her heart, "let go."

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, lampwork by Donna Millard, tourmaline. Hand fabricated.

Runaway

The sky was grey and misty, the sun would be up in oh, about an hour or so, but I couldn't wait. If I didn't go now, I would never go. I grabbed a carrot and Dusty’s bridle from the rack, stuck a hoof pick in my back pocket, and ducked between the wires of the fence. The horses made early morning sounds as I approached; Dusty lifted her head in greeting and snuffled in my hand for her carrot. I picked her hooves while I waited for her to finish chewing, and then slipped the bit in her mouth.

Grabbing a handful of mane in my left hand, I stepped back, tossed my right leg over her back, and, mid-flight, grounded myself with my right hand on her withers; a single smooth motion that had taken so much practice to learn, but now came easily and gracefully to me. I nudged her sides with my heels and we ambled off towards the gate. Another move that had required practice but was now second nature: she sidled up to it, I opened it, we went through, and Dusty swung her backside around so that I could close the gate.

And then we ran, because our lives depended on it.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, turquoise, ostrich egg shell, onyx. Hand fabricated.

Baby Blue

She was seventeen in 1959, the year her daddy bought her a brand new, baby blue, Buick Electra convertible. She felt like Brigitte Bardot when she slipped on her sunglasses and slid behind the wheel; she would have loved to let the wind tousle her hair, but Brigitte had a team of hairdressers waiting for her at the end of her ride, and Caroline didn’t. So she covered her hair with a scarf, tied it around her neck, and comforted herself with the thought that she looked very sophisticated and mysterious. A quick check in the rear view mirror confirmed her assessment of herself; she freshened up her lipstick and drove off.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, tourquoise. Hand fabricated.

Desert Blooms

That first summer in the desert liked to have killed me. The hot, dry air sucked all the moisture right out of my body; I was as light and thin as a piece of tissue paper. I feared I would blow away at the slightest breeze, but there wasn't any to test that theory. From the road, the desert looks as wide and easy to read as an open book; on foot, the words are sharp little ridges of rock, twisting and curving around canyons of sand that shift and steal away what few landmarks there are. I learned to place myself in time and space with every step, lest my bones join the small animal ones that litter the ground, bleached and preserved, lost to eternity.

In autumn, I learned that I was made of sterner stuff. I leaned into the hot dry winds that swept through the arroyos and scoured them into new shapes; the very precariousness of my position kept me upright. As the winter winds turned colder, I leaned harder. They boxed my ears and made them ache; the burning of my ears was the only warmth left in the world. At last, the rains came. They silenced the wind, coming down so hard that the water bounced back off the face of the desert, even as she frantically sucked it in. Water soaked into her pores, filled her wrinkles, and overran them in raging rivers in the space of a few hours.

When the rains stopped, the turbulent waters gave way to slow moving reddish-brown streams, and then dried up altogether, leaving nothing but cracked earth where they had been. As she assimilated it, a fine green film began to spread across the desert, swirling here and there, and the tiniest of flowers sparkled like gold dust. The air was soft and easy to breathe. We were blooming.

© 2007 Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Gold filled, lampwork by Glass & Splinters Lampwork, freshwater pearls, vermeil. Hand fabricated.

hollowings

Hollowings

She never sleeps at night, she listens for the geese:
Like reckless children slipping out of bed they call
"Come play!" she turns her face back to the wall
but never sleeps; she never sleeps, she never sleeps at all

they call for her, these large, ungainly birds - in flight,
out on the lake - they mother her across the miles
they plead with her to sleep, to rest awhile
their wings beat reconcile, beat reconcile, beat reconcile

and her reply curves like a smile across the moon
as heavy as her birds, as certain as her nights:
the summer days are losing all their light
she sees her fall in flight - she knows - she sees her fall in flight.


© Cynthia Newcomer Daniel

Sterling silver, lampwork by Donna Millard, hessonite garnets, andalusite, citrine. Hand fabricated.