Marcus picked up his pen. His writing-feather was actually a ballpoint pen adorned with a massive feather.
He’d found it in a jewelry store of all places when he was fourteen years old. His mum had brought him to that store to pick out a present from his Mormor for his confirmation. Whether religious or not, everyone in the village got confirmed. It was more of a tradition than something strictly religious. A rite of passage. Somehow, somewhere along the way the event had gotten symbolized by jewelry.
Young Marcus would rather have gone out in the woods or down to the river with Mormor herself and picked out a stone together, but mum had insisted her mum wanted to give him something “valuable” that he could “cherish” for the rest of his life – preferably in gold. Marcus had smiled to himself at those words as he knew that was mum’s wish, not Mormor’s. Mormor – and Morfar – had always taught him that nothing is more valuable, nothing is to be cherished more, than this Earth we walk upon and all of her creations.
He’d seen the pen, a huuuuge Eagle Feather attached to it, between a selection of gold crucifixes and “faith, hope and love” themed earrings.
“That one, please”, he’d pointed to the pen.
Mum had raised her eyebrows, but before she could shake her head in a no Marcus had pointed to the little marking proving it was sterling silver. A compromise well worth giving she had decided.
Here he was, 35 years later, a celebrated composer and musician. And it was this pen, this pen only which produced the magic. As soon as he touched it he was transported. Just like when he put his fingers gently on the keys of the piano.
And Star.
She had been his co-composer.
His magic portal.
All this time.
This morning he had gone out for a 4 am starbathing walk in the snow. Something or someone had called him out of his sleep. By now he had learned to listen to those “whispers”, as he called them.
Down at the river bank he looked up to the skies. North Star. Great Bear. Orion. The Doggies.
Across the ice a misty figure came walking. As the shape got closer it seemed huge. The size of a Polar Bear. He sat down. Rubbed his eyes. It was. A Polar Bear. Should he be afraid? He’d lived with a wolf with little over 12 years, so maybe not?
The bear stopped. A few meters out on the ice still. Saying;
“May I?”
Marcus gestured to the large space in between himself and the trees. The bear settled in.
“Thank you. It was one hmmmm of a journey getting here from the dimensions of the outer banks. But now I am here, you are here, so we can better get acquainted as we need to finish that piece “Home”. The most magnificent symphony to ever grace these dimensional planes.”
Marcus did his best to take it all in. The large white bear pushed him gently on the shoulder. “Barry’s the name. Like Barry-ton.” he said with a wink.
- Cecilia Götherström, Dec 9th 2020.
FlowerOfTheThunderAndLightning 