Maia uttered in a voice without sound as a shaman inhaled resin vapors and sensed the Guardian yew of the Underworld spoke through yew staves. Cobalt words, finalities, not like the fire-breathing dragon. The shaman dreamed of walking a stone labyrinth. Then a butterfly transformed the dream into numbers, the chrysalis of time. Maia carved runes of wisdom on the yew trunk. Lines crossed a central stem line. Read the first page.
The Guardian sprouted a branch to the ground to form a new tree. This sacred yew had two eyes on its folded bark and a third eye floated to remain next to her trunk. The tree-child adopted the oracle eye. A young hand clenched fur and it’s alive in the grocery store. Dad, he has a hamster. Is he trying to sell it? No, it’s a pet. Did the hamster eat its way through the produce section? The trembling animal loved by the boy with bangs in his eyes. In the next aisle divination frosted the organic tomatoes.
Sitting near spring hazel, a golden princess placed poisonous yew berries in a line across a wooden table. Her feet squished into pretend plastic high heels held by elastic bands. She snapped open her spotted umbrella. A middle dot marked the third eye. Told her to run away from the stone castle of arches and stacked doors where a staircase leads to nowhere. This was a trap.
Healing waters swirled under the nasturtium sky, red core. The hamster spun his wheel, the princess followed the migration of a goose and a red-winged blackbird – hybrid beings, and Maia bent down to touch the trailing roots. Death never final in recessed wood.