The wild woman stoops under the weight of birdsong as she crosses the meadow with her one glass eye firmly fixed on the path ahead as day unfurls it's sails and bleaches night to memory like an echo of death.
Ned walks towards her twisting a willow dream catcher between his hands, a spiderweb of rabbit gut creating its hole; a hole for dreams to fall through it seems, for his dreams have not been caught.
“I know you mean to help me, Bess, but whatever it is, it is not this that can help me.” He throws the dreamcatcher onto the ground, startling rooks and dislodging the owl from its nook as the world turns in its axis.
“Don't lose your head, Ned; have patience. You are like a cauliflower for going over and giving up so soon. Make for your love a nest of flattened grasses and fill it with buttercups and stories. Blanket it with tunes and decorate it with dew-glass jewels and Kingfisher quills. Gather your beloved and tell her…”
“Tell her what?” He interrupts.
“Tell her: “You make my heart sing.” Make for yourself a handful of auspicious days: follow the song thrush and listen to the progress of the woodpecker to be sure that they are real. Swim in each other's senses, hold your love in your arms. It is no good to rely on dreams when life is there for the taking. I may only have one eye, Ned Burgess, but I can see the truth as clear as I see you standing here.”
With that wild Bess walks on, a secret smile playing on her lips as she remembers her own auspicious days. She tiptoes through the dogwood and cornflour to check the rabbit holes and chuckles as she walks,
“…like a cauliflower!”
