Be Still The Still
Katherine put one foot in front of the other because the ground underneath was rich mud. Each step made wet sounds from the press of her weight into the gray, clayey foundation. “This is my earth,” she thought as she lifted the fabric of her long skirt to hang like curtains, mid-calf. Overhead, the sky was warm as a child’s balloon — fresh blown up by the man in a clown suit at the county fair. Katherine watched that color be taken over by tree greens and browns as she walked into the forest. The mud — now covered by last autumn’s undead leaves and crunchy pine needles — still gave in to each footstep.
As Katherine approached the contraption, she let drop her skirt, then leaned down to grab its hem to create a cloth basket. She bent further to gather twigs and tinder, placing them into the fold until she felt sufficient weight.
Kicking at moist ashes in the pit to create a depression, Katherine then dumped the contents of her skirt. She took a flint and knife from her pocket and scraped until sparks flew, landing like firework embers on the tinder. When smoke curled, she fanned it with the dirty calico of that utilitarian skirt.
In the shade of the glen, the metal contraption stood at attention, like the Tin Man, at the ready. Katherine opened the kettle bin to check the cold mash left over from the last cook — before the rains. She stirred it with a wooden stick that once was a spoon. Now there was nothing to do but wait for the heat to make the lightning.
The still would soon produce a liquid harvest…and Katherine would drink a dividend while on the way back home.
*Written from today’s prompt from Kate Gray: “You are Allowed to be Still.” You are invited to a daily “Call To Write” here: www.kategraywrites.com (“Starting Friday, March 20, at 9am, Pacific Time, dial in for a free guided meditation and writing. Dial 503–300–2534 to join. No matter where you are, who you are, how much or little you’ve written, you can join.”)
