Of grass and mountains...

The heliotropos and ever-benigngrass were cared as fragile children so were them watered and attended. On the entrances you would find stoneheads of warloards; one each side looking east and the other west. This was very important for us nymphs, as the first task after waking up is facing towards the sunset to observe a morning meditation.

My house was neither majestic nor wide but confortable and thus, endearing.In the walls we had various things painted: drawings of seas, gods, lost treasures, flowers, fish, fantastic creatures. There was also a drawing of a young noble face by his ship where you could read in a silvery letterhead the word Argos. I regret to say there were three or four pictures more or less unidentified because it never ocurred to me I would someday like to know the identity of everyone in AEEA. So is one of my deep fears: to impulsively destroy someone I talked to when I was young.

Our calendars took also some important part of the home. Counting days and months was difficult although some of the main reasons for it was that every home had its own particular way of counting them. If you talked with someone beyond your immediate family, you probably had to discuss their way first. This may have been troublesome I suppose, but generally people made these calculations gladly and enjoyed the difference in systems. I never had trouble in that counting mainly because then time was not important to me as it is not today.

Grassy mountains covered an important part of the island aeea as great goats and swine haunted springs in pleasant valleys. Quiet satyrs joyed the little forests and heavenly huntresses dwelled upon in happy song.

Scilla's sense of foll...

This is the book of Scilla Brigida. I remember what honour I had in this country and how I was called the noblest and fairer of maidens in the world. Wherefore go not for women are hasty but did often what they sore repent of afterwards. Be ruled by my advice.

Still west I went and north and north again. And very very far from men, cities, and gods, I was lying there with one desire in my heart, with only half remembered human words in my mind.
I am a monster now and I converse with stars and flowers and mountains, moors and fens.
Do not read these words and procrastinate about them, for I have worked them arduously out of a fading human mind. My hands barely can have the grip of the lapizlazuli and my fatigue interrupted constantly the work of a scrivain.

This is the book of Scilla Brigida:woe to the proud crown of the drunkards of Mona Isle for there is my final hiding. I pretend to live my remaining days like the fading flower with fading beauty overcome by wine because I cannot do anything anymore.

Scilla the hermit I do not mind to be called for I myself think I have become something horrible and destructive; a form most hideous that live off mariners and lonesome knights. Forceful tempests are not worse when the moment of the feeding has arrived. Many of these mariners usually perceive this not... I was aroused first by their presence alone and feasted upon them as the great storm from the ocean goes shouting. And there is glory in it and terror on the wind. I always weep afterwards.

I feel like haunted air to spread the news of my transformation. I should try and make memory of the time when my life was not so. Because people should know that there was a time when the twilight was most dear to my mind. Not many remember this now so I decided to write an account on the misterious Kirke and her accomplishments.

My executor that is. Her land lies in the upper part of my cave. She perceived my pain and feasted first on it. My faces often hide the lucid expression to discover a more dark and sinister ones when I think of her. The ones that I loved the most were turned into the most evil ones. Kirke always has a way of recognizing even the most tiniest of tidings.

When I think of what I would have done for her, Alas, I know well that I would have died for her sake. So anon with a full sorrowful heart I declare I have not the strength to fight my revenge. Even if I would have wanted it so, many times I see myself sorely wroth on the grass and endured in torment and crying out with pain but the thought makes me leave my earthly will. This is non gratifying and thus my mind not having any other confort in its yearnings proceeded to destroy it.

My heart was before that time light and joyful but starting up in life I fell in cry.

So, when the moment of truth came to find and write an account of my executor I hesitated not.
My use of language had faded and so did my mind but my will held fast and I took a most marvelous pigment from the earth and began this writing. But I order thee one thing alone reader; if someone in human curiosity may find this transcript and read over its contents I advise him for a prompt escape. On the other hand, if the mighty Providences divise a more convenient outcome without the medling of any wrongful art, may the transcript be kept for you alone and later given exposure by any means necessary.
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Kirke is not what most of men think it is. That creature is a sorceress that transforms itself at will when she/he sees fit. Kirke is a he-maiden, fair but evil, displeased,distressed,poisoned. K.had a yet wilier and most subtle smile;only her words can go where no one had dared before and (roundabout) to strike and smote a most complacent target. K. wrecked out my loins as high lands yield against forceful rain.

Thou art my gods, for thou hast made the city a heap, the fortified city a ruin the palace of aliens is a city no more. I hope this city will never be rebuilt. But it is been used as Kirke hides well beyond its limits. The city of Aeaea lies were many do not remember anymore and the few who know the whereabouts have lost touch with their humanity just as I have . It's dark soil makes for terrible burns on the skin of innocents and the smell of it's air is intoxicating and dense. The sight looses clarity and searches incessantly for the high light.
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Recently I met a creature without form and without spirit. A creature made out of water and held together by the will of its own. It spoke to me in tones I have not heard before and so there I recognized its entity. Only one deformity I had wrestled all through these years but "it" still strives on many.

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I was born some years ago ( at least 55 years ago) in a little lost island of AEEA which was two leagues apart from a little dune of sand. There I used to take baths where a thin way snaked and cornered our hills and vasts plains. I used to think this way was like me; condemned to death.

My town center was hot and sunny, very rich in olives,alcapparras, and grains with hardly any houses because there were no need for any. We had caves in turn for our comfort and luxury, painted white from within which gave me a headache only to remember for no light was really much needed except during the night when people just prefer the privacy. Years afterwards, when I finally set offsail, my community hardly ever reminiscenced their prior customs and had begun to light their caves for fear of their neighbors.

In the town as in nature, there were good caves and bad caves. Some of the good ones were decorated with geraniums, heliotropos,palms,and everbenign grass which are all powerful antidotes to many known poisons. The art of healing was proclaimed as our national skill for many had these great herbs available all year round in abundance.