She is slim as a sapling. But with breasts. Not too large, but seemingly so due to the tininess of everything else. Not an immodest girl.
But really beautiful girls don't need to be. How can a blossom hide its scent? She is too innocent to know how.
Or to know she ought.
Sometimes I look back and pity her; often I look back at her in anger. Poor thing. She doesn't deserve it. But how many days it feels like she does....
She is shy, because dryads are, you know. Only Artemis puts us at our ease.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Man
The man is fat and bald and blustering.
Charismatic, most would say.
He has probably touched your children. Nothing sinister, you know, but he is that close. He could if he wanted to, anyway, because no one would stop him.
Except you, of course, if you are paying attention.
Charismatic, most would say.
He has probably touched your children. Nothing sinister, you know, but he is that close. He could if he wanted to, anyway, because no one would stop him.
Except you, of course, if you are paying attention.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Not Only the Church
It has been said that priests are only some among many.
O sure, it's true. But...
But it is different. Very different.
When did you last come across a band teacher or a scout leader who has made a solemn, public oath to live a celibate life and to proclaim the Gentle Jesus to the world?
See? It is different. There is a higher standard at play.
Tell me there's not.
Nothing is holier and finer than a priest serving the people of God.
And nothing is more vile, wicked, and disgusting than a priest using a child of God to serve himself.
O sure, it's true. But...
But it is different. Very different.
When did you last come across a band teacher or a scout leader who has made a solemn, public oath to live a celibate life and to proclaim the Gentle Jesus to the world?
See? It is different. There is a higher standard at play.
Tell me there's not.
Nothing is holier and finer than a priest serving the people of God.
And nothing is more vile, wicked, and disgusting than a priest using a child of God to serve himself.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Because someone must pay
Many days I find myself thinking that someone must pay.
But I am a Christian. Many dryads are, you know.
And to be a Christian is to know that Someone has paid. But alas. I am a tree nymph, not a Saint, and to realize that I may be waiting till the next life for justice....
Well, it makes for some bad days.
But if no one will pay till the afterlife, then at least someone will listen. I may feel powerless to act, but I am not powerless to speak.
I am not powerless to speak.
But I am a Christian. Many dryads are, you know.
And to be a Christian is to know that Someone has paid. But alas. I am a tree nymph, not a Saint, and to realize that I may be waiting till the next life for justice....
Well, it makes for some bad days.
But if no one will pay till the afterlife, then at least someone will listen. I may feel powerless to act, but I am not powerless to speak.
I am not powerless to speak.
Friday, October 21, 2011
The Story Begins
Every story must begin somewhere. This one is no exception.
But what is a story without a listener? Nothing, but worse than nothing. Everyone has their story. And everyone deserves to be heard. And when we silence each other, we hurt each other.
And you? Have you come to listen?
Come then, and listen to my tales of woe.
But what is a story without a listener? Nothing, but worse than nothing. Everyone has their story. And everyone deserves to be heard. And when we silence each other, we hurt each other.
And you? Have you come to listen?
Come then, and listen to my tales of woe.
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