Word: Campestral

campestral

[ kam-pes-truhl ]

adjective

of or relating to fields or open country.

 *****************************

               They were in a field. An open, empty field with nothing but tall grass in it. A light breeze blew, causing ripples in the plant life, and small animals occasionally disturbed some of the blades as they went about their lives.

               “Well, where is it?” Sam asked. “The temple’s supposed to be here, right? Did you read the damn map wrong again?”

               “I didn’t.” Kurt said. His thin face was buried in the aging map. “I’m absolutely sure this is the place.”

               “That’s what you said about that last one, and we ended up fighting those swamp dragons because of it.”

               “That was not my fault! The map was outdated, and the landmarks were all wrong. Besides, we got a lot of good materials out of that.”

               Laura sighed and let her male companions bicker. She took the time to actually look around the place. It was a lovely area, and the only thing that kept it from being the ideal place to rest for awhile was the fact that the grass came up to her waist. The air smelled fresher than anything back home, or even the other cities the trio had come across recently, and the quiet of nature was all around them. Well, mostly.

               “Oh would you two shut up and think for a while.” She said. “There are four options. One is that Kurt is wrong.”

               “Which I’m not.”

               “Right, okay, let’s assume that you read it right.” She continued. “The other three options are pretty obvious. One is that it’s hidden by some kind of magic. The second is that it’s right above us. The third is that it’s right below us. Probably a mix of the first and one of the second two.”

               Sam looked up, watching the skies for any sign of a magically hidden temple. He gave up quickly and looked at Laura.

               “Great, so even if it is here, we don’t have any way of getting to it, especially if it’s floating or something. Which means this whole trip was a waste of time.”

               “No, it means it’s just a little harder than we thought it would be.” Laura said. “We’ve got everything we need to reach the place no matter where it is, we just have to find out it’s exact location first.”

               “She’s right.” Kurt said with a shrug. “We’ve got tons of equipment and magic and stuff that’ll work.”

               “Yeah, sure. Easy for you two to say. You both got magic when, well, you know.”

               “Well then, big guy, just sit back and let the magic people do our things. We’ll wake you up when we need a meat shield.”

               Sam grumbled and flopped onto the ground. The grass covered him completely, and the only reason the other two were able to keep track of him was the sound of his voice. That was fine. He was great in a fight, but not quite as useful out of one. The other two nodded and got ready to work their magic. They had an ancient lost temple to find.

***************************************

Anyone who know fantasy settings knows that ancient hidden temples have all the best stuff in them. You'd think a lot of it would've fallen apart due to age, but magic just kind of lets you say "nuh-uh" to a lot of stuff like that.

Word: Peduncle

peduncle

[ pi-duhng-kuhl, pee-duhng- ]

noun

Botany.

1. a flower stalk, supporting either a cluster or a solitary flower.
2. the stalk bearing the fruiting body in fungi.

Zoology. a stalk or stem; a stalklike part or structure.

Anatomy.

1. a stalklike structure composed of white matter, connecting various regions of the brain.
2. an attachment process, as in the brachiopods.

 

 ***********************************

               The flowers were watching him. Pete could tell they were. They grew on thick stalks, the bore an array of petals that he had never seen before. And those thick stalks bend and twisted as he moved, so the actual flowers followed him as he moved through the odd place. He had no idea how he had gotten there. One minute, he was tending to his garden, and then next he was amidst the odd flowers.

               As he walked, he tried to classify as many of the plants as he could. Those looked like some kind of rose, while something like a tulip grew over that way. Small clusters of tiny white flower here, sprawling yellow petals the size of his hand there. And all of them followed his movement.

               Suddenly, he saw a different kind of motion. In front of him, dozens of flowers were moving in unnatural ways. They moved together, bending and twisting around each other, guided by some unseen force. And they were taking a shape that Pete recognized. They were forming a woman. A human, or at least humanoid, woman.

               Her skin was made of white petals, while her dress was made of all the other colors present. Her hair was stems and leaves, twining into a neat braid. Her eyes though, her eyes were something different. They were deep pools of every color of the rainbow, and then some. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

               “Hello, Peter.” She said in a light, airy voice. She moved towards him a few steps, releasing the scent of every flower that made up her body.

               “Wh-who are you?” He asked. “How do you know me?”

               “I am Flower.” She said with a slight bow of her head. “I am the spirit, the soul, of every flower in the world. I am them, and they are me. And I know you through those you tend.”

               He did not understand, not really. But it seemed rude to press for more, so he continued to ask. “And, and where am I?”

               “This is my home. The place where all flowers originate. It is my garden, in a way. Do you like it?”

               “It’s very nice. Although I wish the flowers weren’t looking at me.”

               She smiled and laughed gently. “I apologize. We have never had a human here before, so they are curious. I will ask them to not stare so much, if it will help.”

               “It might. And why am I here?”

               “Because I, we, have need of you. My garden is threatened like never before, and I believe you can save us.”

               “M-me? But I’m just a gardener. And not even a very good one. There’s lots of people better than me out there.”

               “Indeed. But none like you. You, more than any other human, understand flowers. You know when to cut, and when to mend. When we need to return to the ground, and when we need to be removed. You know us, our ways, our purpose. No other human has your understanding. And it is that understanding that we need. It that understanding that will safe us, save all flowers everywhere. Will you do so?” She asked while extending her hand to him.

               “I…I don’t…” He looked around. The flowers quickly turned away from him as he did. But he could feel their gazes, even though none had eyes. And there was something else. An eagerness, a kind of yearning and hopefulness to them. He had no idea why he could tell that, but it was there. He took a  deep breath, breathing in the myriad of scents in the air. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’ll do what I can.”

               He took Flower’s offered hand, and she began leading him through the garden, to whatever trouble they were having.

****************************

Not really sure what to say right now, so I'll just wish all you fine people a wonderful day.

Word: Haimish

 

haimish

or heim·ish

---

adjective Slang.

homey; cozy and unpretentious.

*******************************

               Jack looked around. He was in a small, simple hut. Wooden walls and what looked to be a thatched roof surrounded him. A hand made rug lined the floor. There was no art, but the air was filled with a subtle hint of herbs. A small, warm fire crackled inside a clay fireplace across from him. Even the chair he sat on was a simple, wooden piece of furniture.

               “Oh good, you’re finally awake. I was starting to worry.” The speaker was a pleasant looking elderly woman who had just entered the hut.

               She looked like every grandma rolled into one. She was the jolly kind of plump, complete with rosy cheeks and white hair tied back in a simple bun. She wore rough, home spun clothes and held a basket filled with freshly picked flowers. She looked like she belonged in such a homey place. Like the two had been made for each other.

               “I was starting to worry something had happened to you.” She continued. “You were out for so long.”

               “Um, excuse me, but I think I’m in the wrong place. I—”

               “Oh no, no, you’re exactly where you want to be right now, Jack.”

               Jack took in a deep breath. So was he really there? That could not be true. There was no way. But he had never seen this woman before, and yet she knew his name. He did not exactly have his wallet on him either, so that option was out.

               “Um, I’m sorry, but…”

               “I know, I know, you’re confused. When a man tries to speak with a god, he has certain expectations.” She began placing her flowers on a wooden table barely big enough for one person to eat off. “Grand palaces, choirs of angels, that sort of thing. Am I right?”

               “Uh, well, yes, actually. I mean, kind of. I was half expecting some cosmic horror that drained my sanity, but the other half was hoping for the heavenly palace. Are you sure you’re God?”

               “A god. Well, goddess in my case.” She gingerly removed the petals from the flowers and placed them in a mesh bag, which she hung above the fireplace. She then went into a shelf and picked a bag that had already been dried, which she placed into a kettle and hung above the fire. Jack had no idea where she had gotten any of that. He was quite sure they had not existed a few moments ago.

               “So, if you’re not the Christian God, then who are you?”

               “Oh, I’m just some little goddess you’ve never heard of.”

               He tried to place her, but his mythology was lacking. She was pale, so probably European. But that was as far as he got.

               “Uh, so, what, like…Norse?”

               “Close. I’m Celtic. Name’s Airmed, if you must know.”

               She had been right. He had no idea who that was. “Uh…”

               “Oh, don’t worry yourself about that. I knew you wouldn’t know me. Not many do these days. That’s way of things though. Things get old, things die, get forgotten. One day Yahweh, that is, the Christian god, will be forgotten too.” She watched the kettle closely and listened for the tell-tale whistle before taking it off the fire. She poured the fragrant tea into to simple wooden cups and gave one to Jack. “Now then, on to business. One doesn’t go about a soul sending to a god for no reason, now does he?”

               “Well, I was hoping for some advice, actually. I’ve been to a lot of people. Friends, family, counselors, even priests. But none of them could give me a good answer. They all tried, sure, but none of them had any real idea of what I should do. They all said what they would do, or at least what they thought they’d do. But that doesn’t help in my case. So, I thought that God would know. God supposedly knows everything, so why not try. And now, here I am. In your house, drinking tea.” He took a sip. It was very good tea.

               “I see. Well, sorry you couldn’t get the god you wanted, but he’s busy these days. Now, I’m always willing to listen to your troubles, and I’ll try and help where I can. But I won’t promise you’ll like what I say, nor can I guarantee my advise is the best out there. Not even us gods can see the future.”

               Jack nodded. He set the cup on his lap, took a deep breath, and began.

            ********************************************

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if people actually could talk to a deity. Like, really talk. Just have a nice conversation with one. What would they say? What would I say? The world will probably never know, but it's nice to think about.