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Shadow Island...sequel to Tell Me What Love Is
So much time has passed since the woman has last visited Shadow Island. In truth, she went there often but only in flickering thought but it drifted away in a puff of fragrant marsh wind. It seemed foolish to linger there, lingering on dreams of yesterday, but lost in a wash of immobility, she could only travel in her mind.
She had ridden every ride, including the last one, with each stride, each step, with each fall and rise of shadow, the creak of worn leather, and the silence of new synthetic. She felt the charge forward, the rush adrenalin, the thunder of hooves on hard packed dirt, the sucking sound of powerful legs pulled through mud, the snort of flaring nostrils, the smell of sweaty horse hair, and the tangle of knots in long blond hair. She thought on the last ride, the knowing that day that she was going to get hurt, admonishing herself for her fear, the analyzable realization that what would happen when she could not work and if the risk was worth it.
She was wearied of that dark ugly demon that haunted her heart...fear of doing the thing she loved best to do. The fear of pain and recovery and the burden upon her shoulders that would slip and be enlarged by incapacitation of her physical ability to work. Was it worth it? Yes! To defeat the demon and return to herself as much as possible.
It felt like she had been lost such a long time...lost in the flurry of life going on, the cyclone of events that changed everything, and the dying of passion and fire in her to take a risk.
She came again to Shadow Island where all her friends awaited her, plus the bodiless voices of those human that were gone whispering in the marsh wind, and playing again among the tendrils of Spanish Moss in the ancient live oak's branches. She knelt, grasping the hardy, sharp marsh grass in her hands, and tore loose a blade. Rushed by the smell of ageless dark earth, compacted with countless tides and strewn in the wetlands. A gigantic mosquito could hum if she so wished. She did not wish. A butter yellow butterfly perched in an eternal twenty four hour life on the edge of marsh lilac. The smell of gumbo, stewing slowly, wafted in the wind.
She ask the tree no question this time as she knew the answer.
It was worth it to live.