Undone Deeds (39 page)

“Mae….” She paused. A sound like that. She thought there might be more, but the idea faded away.

The large woman laughed. “May, is it? Now there’s a bit of luck. Whether for me or thee remains to be seen. Come along then. I could use a girl. I’ll show you were the water ditch is.”

Awkwardly, the woman climbed the low fence.

May,
she thought. It felt right, but…. off somehow. She hobbled behind the woman. It was a name as good as any for a girl found in a midden.

Meryl opened her eyes and stared at a night sky. The stars glimmered overhead, placid in their place. She got to her feet, brushing grass off her knees. She twisted a leg, noticing one of her boot buckles had bent. She leaned down and fixed it, stomping her foot to reposition the leather.

When she straightened, the full moon revealed a long field of new grass. Miles in the distance, an electric light glowed on the horizon. She frowned, trying to place a city surrounded by grass but came up empty. She sighed and adjusted her boots again. They weren’t for hiking, but she didn’t have much choice.

The moon flashed off something in the corner of her eye, and she turned. Puzzled, her eyebrows drew down as she stared at her MINI Cooper sitting on the grass. Then she shrugged and got in.

The radio came on in a roar of static when she started the engine. She played with the tuner, but couldn’t find a station. Opening the console, she popped in a CD and turned it
up full blast. As she wheeled the car around, something dangled from the rearview mirror. She stopped and hit the dome light. A silver acorn hung on a chain. She grinned and pulled it on over her head.

Hitting the gas again, she bumped over the grass, driving into the night.

I hear voices, soft voices, whispering words in sorrow. I hear the lapping of waves, the soft caress of the deep. I feel the kiss of sea on my skin, the rock of a barge beneath me.

I am who I always am. I am myself. I am here, again, here on my journey. It begins and ends this way. Someday it will not begin again. Someday it will not end again. Not today.

I reflect on my life as I must, sorting through things done well and things not, and things not at all. Deeds of valor and of fear, of strength and weakness, love and hatred. All the deeds of my life parade before me. Undone deeds mock me. Deeds undone mock me more.

The Wheel of the World turns. It widens as It turns, gathering up speed and urgency, filling with life and love, death and sorrow. It fills until It fails, and collapses again, falling into Itself like a gyre. It turns, the Wheel of the World, and we turn with It.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The cere
mony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity….

Apple blossoms. I smell apples blossoms.