Picture Prompt for Flash Friday @ http://flashfriday.wordpress.com/
Click the link for rules and to enter your own flash, then read my response below.
Tears streamed down her face--she cried for the trees, for the animals, and for the spirits.
She stumbled up the stone steps towards the tower. At their summit, she summoned the last of her strength to ring the bell. Its peals echoed through the hills--a warning of approaching danger.
Willow murmured a final prayer for her people and flung herself from the tower. Eyes closed, she welcomed death.
Her eyes opened in the spirit world--but nothing had changed. She rode the wind, untouched by the fire as it consumed the forest.
As her village came into view, she willed the wind to turn south--it hesitated, unaccustomed to following orders. She strengthened her resolve and commanded the wind to change direction.
Seeing her village was unharmed, she searched for the pale faces--they would not escape their carelessness, nor her wrath.
Imaginary Worlds exhibit, Atlanta Botanical Garden. Photo by C. Joey Ivansco.
Fountain of Beauty
In a fit of jealous rage, she trapped me here--turned me into an earthen statue, living but dead. It was not my fault Zeus loved me, I did nothing to entice him--but Hera is a jealous woman.
I do not create the water, but it flows from my hand. I can influence it, poison it, imbue the drinker with special qualities. Now...what would infuriate Hera?
Each maiden who drinks from my pool will be given a double portion of my beauty. The nymphs who make their home in my waters will be second in beauty only to Aphrodite herself.
Zeus will be filled with all-consuming lust for these, my daughters. Hera will have no choice but to release me from my prison. But in case she gets any ideas to partake of my nectar herself, my spell will work in reverse on any immortal who drinks.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
“Earth Goddess” my sign reads but the flowers here have given me another name.
“Ch-ch-ch-ch-chia!” they call.
“In a few days you will be nothing but a grass-covered hill,” laughs the Peony.
“You look like an overgrown Chia pet,” chortles the Dahlia.
As the seeds begin to grow, I fear they are right—their taunts weaken me, and even my Chia grass withers. I will be but a barren hilltop—not even fit to grow grass.
Deep inside, something stirs. Their barbed words no longer bind.
I set my mind to my task. I enrich my soil daily. I drink in the water, the sun, and the nutrients available. More plants inhabit my soil—only a little Chia grass remains.
When the botanical garden opens, people hurry past the Roses, Irises and Dahlias. The Lilies are admired but a moment.
At my exhibit, people linger; they gaze on me with wonderment. I am now worthy of the name Earth Goddess.