One Final Say a'Fore the Croak'n Custom
Faylyn stood before the souls of Whiz Bang. Everyone came to listen and ask questions of her. T'was her night to talk of her life and say her final adios to the village.
Her final creak'n be com'n soon. Weren't the cancer. Just got too old. Natural way of a good life, I reckon.
She had always been a potter. Clay came alive in her fingers. Gave pottery a soul.
Villagers sat on their blankets and looked at her. Be a wisp of a woman now. Never changed her hair style. Straight with deerskin headband stain'd with sweat from turn'n the wheel by hand. She was bathed in the light from the fire pit.
From the rock'n chair on the stone ledge she began her life review. We listen'd.
"I was twenty when the last Civil War veteran died. Left school at 16. Couldn't get my fingers outta Mother Earth, I be guess'n.
Didn't make much money from throw'n clay, but my hands grace hundreds of tables through the past, present and most likely hand'd down to you little ones out there, 'yond the fire.
Earth and I danced. T'was enough for me. Maybe not for others. Dunno. Some people run. Some walk. Some hop, skip and jump through life. I danced with clay.
Ain't much else to say worth jaw'n about."
As is our custom, children sit down front, so an elder can hear their questions. Estaban, with a cow lick that rivals a malestrom, asked Faylyn if she ever had children. She smiled at the youngster and said:
"Not like all you children, but I gave birth through my fingers every day the sun shined in the desert. I miss'd noth'n though. I've got all of you in my memories."
Carlita was next. She stutters a bit so it took a smidge for her to get it all out and asked what Faylyn thought of Republicans. From a minor stir among the adults, she answered:
"I have come to believe that the basic problem with them is that they refuse to mature. Still in the grips of greed and me, me, me'ism. Kinda sad, really. T'wernt always that way. Younger folks would say they need a good intervention, I reckon."
Carlita then asked when she would be mature and Faylyn smiled say'n,
"When you can get your intellect to always trump your emotions."
Judy, whose braid'd hair was pulled so tight she was in a constant state of sniffles, asked what was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Faylyn paused for a good while, then said quietly:
"My heart's rainbow."
Confused, Judy said, "I don't understand what that means."
"Nor will you unless it happens. But, keep look'n all your days, child," with a smile on her lips.
There was silence for a long time. As the fire crackl'd in the fire pit, all the villagers were try'n to find that rainbow inside them. Then, Juan stood and asked if Faylyn had any regrets in her life. Stunning question from a one so young.
With a chuckle and a whistle through her teeth, Faylyn look'd out beyond the village a'fore answer'n.
"Regrets be personal baggage. Had more than I could carry. Gave them to the Creator to hold for me a long time ago. Lucky my soul has only skidmarks, rather than rips."
Laughter burst out among the villagers. Ol' man Harvey was hand'n out dill pickles to those want'n one. T'was time now for the adults to ask Faylyn what she thought about things in general.
Julliette was first to stand. She wanted to know when things would get better in the economy.
"When the actual majority act like a majority and takes action on behalf of itself to limit the few who covet."
Barney was next to stand. He was a broken man. Broken from too much of life. How he continued was a wonder. He ask'd what she thought of this Syria toodo.
"It be the time of unhonorable people. In Syria and here at home. That that is, is. That that ain't, ain't. World runs like water. Sometimes clean and good. Other times, soil'd and rancid."
Barney thought a bit and said, "When will things be good and honorable here again?"
Faylyn sat quiet and look'd at a star fall'n behind the mountain. Then she look'd at Barney and her eyes scann'd the rest of us.
"When honorable people clean their home of the dishonorable and send 'em pack'n."
Julliette stood and ask'd, "How do honorable people do that?"
A toothless smile came across Faylyn's face and she chuckl'd to the sky.
"Stop play'n the game the dishonorable have made you play this last score and fifteen. Change the game so all can play. Just stop play'n give'n Ceaser its due."
We laid Faylyn under her kiln a week later. Time for the Creator to mold her to her new image.
I wept.
Silas the donkey bray'd and everyone laugh'd. It was a night of reflection.