By Sara Erickson
As the wind slowly blew the leaves up the street towards the place where I was to meet, an old friend that lived his life to its end with nothing but a spirits worry to lend. He glided along the street where no one was out. Only I had the gift to see him about. His eyes with no life searching for me, I knew it was his turn to be. It was only us two that could share this body’s will. I slipped myself out and left the body still. The trees were the only witnesses in their watchful way, as the other slipped on its clothes for the day, leaving me with nothing but an eye, to see people passing lively by.
The task in life that the old witch left us, was kind enough to leave us this much, a shabby old man with his clothes dangling white, with elephant wrinkles that were a sight. His only tooth was brushed with care, that glistened with his greasy hair.
Our duty was to find the silver spoon. The only one that sings the noble tune. The tune that makes the bright sun to rise, with harmony that not one could despise. With the respected body getting old and weak we have finally reached a clue to speak. In overhearing a town person’s talk of the rose garden with gigantic stalks, lays a spoon of a silver shining, but he could not pick it up, not even slightly. There was power sensed as he grew near. He didn’t get too close because of his fear. He ran as far as he could to leave it’s presence, for not all spoons were with that sense.
The excitement my friend and I had pushed us to go onward and be glad. We could only run to this garden of sweet roses. In no time we reached it as it enlightened our noses. We had no problem grabbing the wondrous spoon, the hard part was getting to the witch soon. Will this old man help us finish our task? Or will he wither away, dare I ask?
The life long journey is coming to a close, for we had found the spoon next to a rose. My partner shall be the great one to head toward the light of the sun, where the witch lives at the highest peak, of the tallest mountain by the glittering creek.
My friend had the impossible to climb, and I could do nothing but be a guide. The excitement was driving me on, but for the old man he was almost gone. “Grab a shrub and pull some more, Only a few more feet to her door.” With the spirit’s will in his eye gave strength to the body to reach the sky. The night swooped in and came my turn, we switched places and I right then learned that climbing this mountain was harder than thought, but with the other urging me on, I couldn’t stop.
As I reached the door in weariness, the witch received me with happiness. The spoon she took with tumbling delight and set it with the singing fork and knife. The trio sang a breath taking song, and the body that I had belong, withered away with honors and gratitude. It had done its purpose just to us few. It left my friend and I ever so free, to continue our spirit life to every degree.