THE CHâTELAINE
It's a beautiful morning here in my
patch of the Ozarks. The cool temps are a reminder that Fall is on the
way and revives old memories of other times living close
to the Earth. Whether alone in a hut or Lady of the manor with family
and servants, she laid in provisions to last until spring. . . this
tapped a Far Memory as chatelaine with husband gone to the Crusades.
With pilgrims at the gate to feed and rumors of *the sickness
(the plague?), she worries if there will be enough food and hearing
there are bandits nearby she stations more guards (albeit they're old
men and boys) and Wards the boundaries, with a special emphasis
to the Holy Ground of the chapel as refuge for those old, sick and the
young if needed. As for herself, *she will fight next to her son, the
young Prince - warrior Mother warrior Son. With roof-thatch to
mend, food to dry, seeds to store, medicinal herbs to gather and
firewood to be cut, she oversees her small tribe of children, staff and
villagers she's responsible for, never stopping until bells ring for
Vespers. Behind all that is the constant refrain with every beat of her
heart, "Is he safe -is he well - when will he return to us"?
*the sickness -- I think it was the plague-
* "she will fight next to her son, the young Prince, warrior Mother warrior son" came with a rush of deep wrenching emotion, part of the vision. He's about 12yrs old, wearing a tunic with a Cross insignia like his Fathers, and he is my son now as well.
*the sickness -- I think it was the plague-
* "she will fight next to her son, the young Prince, warrior Mother warrior son" came with a rush of deep wrenching emotion, part of the vision. He's about 12yrs old, wearing a tunic with a Cross insignia like his Fathers, and he is my son now as well.
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