Thoughts of the Mist

The waters slowly parted as she rose from the aqua depths of her home. They foamed and gurgled as she wove her way out and flew to the edge of the forest by the sea, her silky black hair trailing behind her, her dripping green robe flying loosely with her. 1

She landed deftly on the dewy earth with dry leaves circling the ground with the fresh breeze. As she gently placed each bare foot on the earthy ground, a flow of magic raced in the air like a spark of high electricity.2

She made her way slowly through the glittering forest, the still air bringing a slight chill to her skin as it pierced frostily through her thin bright garments. Her long hair trailed to her tiny ankles, and her graceful hands were held out to the sides as they touched the mossy back of the trees she passed, and felt at the sticky wetness of a dewy spider web. There was a cool mist that hung comfortably in the forest, giving the whole place a soft green look, like the robe she was wearing. Slits of sunlight glinted through cracks in the branches of the trees, and the sky was beautiful, a bright blue.3

Some birds twittered pretty little melodies, and a few rabbits hopped a distance in back, following the trail of moss and flowers she left behind. Some deer grazed as they walked beside her, and an orphaned fawn nibbled gently at her opened palm as if hoping she would accept him. They all followed her as she slowly walked down the earthy path, but when she stopped, painfully and abruptly, they wandered away, as if she was one of their many mortal visitors.4

She had stopped in front of a gravestone, cracked, with dry moss and leaves trailing around the sides and merged in the decrepit cracks. There were some intricate designs of roses on the front and bottom, and moss had settled in there as well. She barely made out the calligraphy that was roughly yet beautifully sketched on the stone, but as her soft blue eyes flitted to read the words, it slowly became literate, and she drew in a painful breath as she read the inscription;5

IN MEMORY OF
YOKO AWASHIMI
1752-1771
BELOVED DAUGHTER,
WIFE AND MOTHER
MAY YOU REST PEACEFULLY
FOREVER6

A single tear fell from her pale eyes, and she closed them and hummed softly to herself, remembering and old lullaby she had heard before... and sung as well.7

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Slowly she opened her eyes, and taking a sorrowful glance at the stone, made her way to the end of the forest, and this time, none of the animals followed her.9

It took only a few minutes to get out of the warmth of the foggy wood, and she slowly entered a clearing as the trees gave out and let tufts of soft grass grow from patches of the neglected soil. A few deer lifted their heads, frightened, then turned back to graze when they saw her. She stood in the field eyeing the Great Mountains, dark green at the bottom, misty green at the top. In some places in the middle, a few tall, patterned temples stood calmly, as if watching over the land they were built on.10

She took a quick glance at them, shuddered, and whistled; a shrill, long lasting, melancholy whistle, and in reply, came a piercing neigh, and a beautiful white horse trotted up the misty field. She smiled, and stretched her arms out before her, and the horse gently nuzzled her delicate hands and breathed warm, moist breaths into her palm, and sighed as she rubbed at his silver forelock. Suddenly, he opened his eyes, and bent down, waiting for her to sit on his back. She smiled again, and climbed gracefully on him. Immediately, he stood up, and she winded her long fingers into his course mane, and held on as he reared, and the galloped across the plain, gliding across green, upon green, upon green...11

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They arrived shortly to the little fishing village, merged between the Mountains and the sea. The grass slowly turned into a brick path, which slowly turned into a cobblestone road, surrounded on each side by small, mud- clayed houses, with old women selling gutted fish to their poor customers and stray dogs begging for food, biting at the itchy spots where clumps of their matted fur fell off, revealing their bright pink skin.13

The air was thick with the bitter smell of fish, the salt of the ocean, and the acrid scent of blood as the young women of the local shops gutted and skinned the fish that their fathers or husbands had caught. Skinny kittens yowled at the dried skull bones they received to play with, and a man leading a group of tired donkeys passed by her and the horse, the hooves of the animals echoing as they clopped on the stony ground.14

As she and the horse merged deeper into the village, more people stopped what they were doing to stare at the beautiful horse, and only some saw a glimpse of her, and those were the people who believed in spirits, and they went home smiling to themselves that they were right all along. The horse wove his way gracefully through the filthy streets and eerie alleys, and then turned a corner, and stopped in front of a small house, like all the others.15

Yet it was different. It was simple, brown with mud- brick, and had a strong, straw roof. The door was ancient and broken, and there was a small yard in the front, covered in once- beautiful peonies and roses, with dead herbs and vines and weeds strewn across the dirty soil. A red ivory dragon for good luck and peace hung from a little red string by the door, and a template that read;16

THE AWASHIMI FAMILY17

The horse whickered and turned his mighty head to look at her. She nodded, as if taking a signal, and sliding off his back, made her way to the door, while the horse clopped away to stand by a few patches of grass to graze on while he waited for her.18

She climbed up the crumbled steps, and stood on the stone porch, and suddenly felt cold and shy, as she stared long at the door, and then gingerly stretched her hand forward and opened it. It swept open, squeaking on its rusty hinges, and she looked back at the horse before finally coming into the house, and closing the door behind her.19

It was as she remembered. The old wooden staircase right by the miniature kitchen, the bedroom beside the door, and the many ivory Buddha’s hanging on the old walls. She resisted the temptation to touch everything she saw, to remember how it felt, all of the things she had taken advantage of... when she was still alive.20

Slowly, she made her way up the staircase, and looked around her as the memories flew by her, and she smelled the familiar scent of baked green tea leaves and the faint stink of fish. But it was all beautiful. She loved it all, for it was home.21

She ran her fingers down the wall as she passed the tiny rooms, then stopped abruptly as she came into the last room, the bedroom of little Anaki, and the adjoined bedroom of Grandmother Baila. 22

She looked into the room, and there she was. Her little girl. And that was when she had an empty longing feeling in her heart to run to the child, and wrap her up in her arms, and sing her a lullaby, and tell her that everything was alright.23

She leaned against the wall of the door, watching the little child as she sang in her honey- sweet voice and played with her little cloth dolls, and put them to bed, and fed them, as her own mother would have done.24

And she also looked at Grandmother Baila, with that wise, sorrowful look on her sweet wrinkled face, as she sat at her wooden stove and boiled more tea leaves while sowing a small jacket. A black kitten at her feet mewed sweetly as she stretched out a little paw to play with the bits of yarn. And suddenly, the spirit understood, she finally understood why Grandmother Baila always had that sorrowful look on her face, that glance in her eyes that told whoever looked deep in them that she had experienced more than anyone could imagine a woman to experience, and it was true.25

But suddenly, she saw that little Anaki had glanced in her direction, and her heart leaped as the little girl dropped her dolls and whispered to them that she would be right back, as she stumbled to her short feet and started to walk to the spirit, her little braids flailing behind her.26

The spirit gasped, and flew from the door, her feet inaudibly pattering on the wooden floor as she ran to escape discovery. She ran down the stairs, her fingers feeling at the rough wall, and sprinted across the room and out the swinging door to her grazing horse.27

Meanwhile the child trotted at a slow gait on chubby feet as she followed the familiar figure, and when she finally reached the door, she slipped through and stumbled down the steep stairs. 28

And there she saw her mother, atop the majestic horse, and she grew frightened and started to cry as she saw the height of the beast and her mother on it. The spirit looked down at the crying child, and her heart filled with bitter angst, and she reached out a transparent hand to the child.29

Anaki took the hand into hers and looked at her mother’s blue eyes, with her own sweet brown eyes. She wasn't like her pale mother, instead she was a contrast, she was rosy, she was chubby, warm, and happy. 30

"Where'd you go, Mama? Why did you leave? Mama... don't you love me?" The woman nodded pitifully and wept. The child wept as well. If only her mother could talk to her, she wanted to hear that beautiful voice again. The one that sounded like the sighing of roses when they are soothed by the wind. She wanted to hear that laugh, the same one that sounded like a chuckling stream or the rain on the street. But there was only so much a visiting spirit could do.31

The spirit motioned that she had to go, and gently took her hand from the child’s grasp. She wiped at her tears, then gingerly leaned over and swept at Anaki's face affectionately. And the child let her.32

Anaki waved at her mother one more time, as she leaned back to her place in the saddle. And she followed her mother with her sweet little eyes as the spirit urged the horse forward, and headed toward the ocean, while the little girls tears shone on her pearly face as she squinted at the dying sun, and watched her mother disappear.