Chapter 50 Full Circle
Full Circle
Lydia Brown
Dusk is approaching when Granny C, Loretty, and I climb the worn stone steps from the book depository.
We’ve spent this last Wednesday in August sorting blown-glass apothecary bottles of tincture and spices.
Their faded labels are hard to decipher.
Large magnifying glasses on stands help.
There are hundreds more holding seeds and ointments and crushed flowers, but we’ve done enough today.
When we exit the chamber, we hear it. A ruckus is building. A lamentation rising.
It’s Samuel.
The past week the white crow has stayed near Birdie’s burying place, and today is his dying day. In an instant I know this firmly, and my heart quickens. I want to remember every facet to tell Kate and Gus.
It starts with droves of crows flying to the meadow, pulled by something mighty that pulls the three of us to its rim.
The beating of a thousand wings moves the air like ocean waves and makes the tall grass to lie down.
In the center is exposed a round, dull green stone.
Samuel, with all the living bleached out of him, lies on that stone.
He watches crows fill high branches. Black feathers torn from chests rain down like ash.
I didn’t know this united sorrow was possible for the passing of a crow.
Then I remember the majestic crow embedded in the top of the ancient coffer.
And the brilliance of crows referenced in Florie’s journal.
Samuel is linked to a powerful legacy as Birdie is linked to the heroes of Elcho Priory.
The sun sinks below the rim and the dark lies soft across the land, and the keening continues.
Samuel radiates with an inner light, and the harsh cries of the crows merge into Om.
Ten angel lights appear. They drift down and encircle the air above Samuel.
Ghosts arrive one by one. Birdie and her sisters.
Generations of witches and healers and Keepers of Truth.
They raise their right hands, and Granny C, Loretty, and I raise ours, and amid the swirl of feathers the spirit of the silver crow ascends to Finally There. The home beyond.
Once out of sight, the meadow is empty yet feathers are everywhere and the silence is profound.
I am washed in the truth that, at last, all the puzzle pieces of my life fit.
All my wanderings have brought me to this pinprick on this planet to witness purpose and true altruism.
Surrounded by testimony to a life well lived, I yearn for home.
My earthly home, and that yearning is a reawakening.
Once upon a time, we Browns had the perfect simple life.
When it shattered, we pretended the fragments were unimportant.
But we were wrong, and it’s not too late.
I need to go home to be with my brothers and sisters.
We need to tell old stories and hear new ones from the other side.
We need to take our fractured pieces and make us whole.