Emma loved flowers. She would have loved the flowers in our garden this year. They were exceptionally lush – yellow daffodils, deep pink tulips and pure white, fragrant yellow roses, and pale purple irises that grew as dense as trees in a forest. I looked down at the windowsill here in the blog cupola . “So, you were out picking flowers?” I said to the Phantom. “That’s a beautiful iris.”
“I picked it for you,” he said, in his low tone. “Iris is the goddess of the rainbow, thus implying that her presence is a sign of hope, and the wind-footed messenger of the gods to humankind, according to Greek mythology. She flies upon the wind and moves like a blast of bright air.”
“Like an orb,” I mused.
I was surprised that he had thought to pick me an iris. More likely, as had been his wont I suspected he would nudge me over the sill and out the open window. I was touched by his kindness.
“Thank you,” I said.
Then, “Blue, dear,” said the Phantom.
“A blue deer. Look.” He pointed.
In the meadow, over near the woods, in a shaft of soft light, stood a blue deer, nosing the ground, foraging for food at twilight.
The wind picked up, then. The stream flowed fast on the wind with little white caps like water in a channel. The man had gone from the bank. The music continued to play, slow, meditative, but lush: now strings joined the flute – violins and deep cellos, and satiny brass, and reeds – clarinets and saxophones –, and double reeds – English horns and bassoons –, then an accompanying chorus of voices. Haunting. Where was the man with the dark reedy hair?
“He’s gone,” said the Phantom, although I had not asked aloud. “The music of the spheres,” he said. “It emanates from the deer.
“The Blue Deer reminds us that we must be stewards of our environment. The Blue Deer is a dream vision, it is a dream of finding one’s spiritual path and of healing not only oneself but also the world and environment from pollution. The Blue Deer guides us to help others.”
“I am deeply honored by his visit,” said I.
The Phantom spoke: “I vacuumed your blog for you, organized it, hung a new header and cleaned up the clutter while you were outside ruminating on the precise color of the tulips, and that “tulip” comes from the Persian word for turban.
“You tend towards understanding the realms of wisdom and healing through nature,” he continued.
“The seeds of a summer garden,” said I, “the tender green stalks upon which the caterpillar crawls before it metamorphoses into a butterfly. I’m trying to plant these seeds now.”
“Maybe you’re harvesting them,” said the phantom.
To be continued …