Saturday, March 28, 2020

The Legend of the Moroccan Stairs

March 27, 2020

                                   




He said, "Come away with me to live in my old country."
She said, "I would go anywhere with you, my love."

They were young and so in love. Off to Morocco they fled, hand in hand with crazy dreams of family and contentment and yes, lots and lots of love.

She said, "My but the streets of Fez are close and the stairs are so steep."
and he said, "Yes, my love, the better to keep you close and clinging to me."

And they filled their new house with much love.

She said, "I'm heavy with your child, my love but we have so little space."
He said, "I shall build us an extra room above."

And with each child came workers to build a new room above with more tight, steep steps to reach each new room.

She said, "They rains have come, my love. There is water in the kitchen on the ground floor."
He said, "Go down quickly my love and sweep the water away."

And so she sweep and bucketed until the floor was once again dry.

He said, "I want to have the room at the very top, only for myself and you."
She said, "I will have more steep, narrow steps to climb to be with you?"

And she climbed more steep, curving, narrow stairs each night up and down for her children and for her love.

He said, "I need more food, please go down to the kitchen and get it for me, good woman."
She said, "Down the stairs again today? Down the steep, dark, winding, narrow stairs?"

And down she went to retrieve a tray of food to carry a heavy load back up the winding, narrow, uneven and dark steep stairs.

He said, "Woman, I need more oranges. I need more tobacco, and I need more tea. Go and fetch it quickly."
She said, "I am old and the rain has come again. Can you not go down the steep stairs to help me clean and dry the kitchen?"

And she hobbled down the stairs taking a long time to return because many of the orange slices which would mysteriously drop from her clumsy fingers onto the steep, uneven winding steps.

She said, "I guess I better pick up those slippery orange slices for anyone in my family could step on them and tumble to their death below."

He said, "Hurry, woman, I need my tea and oranges!"

And the rains came and the floor of kitchen continued to flood as it did every year.

He said, "Woman, clean up the water and get the floors and stairs dry before I slip on them if I ever decide to come down."

She said, "Yes, my husband, I shall walk down all the slippery, steep, winding steps and have them dry for you when you descend."

But he never went down and the rains poured for many days and she grew worried and fearful so she gathered her children to leave their home and climb to the top of the nearest hill.

He said, "Come back and help me. How do I get down these horrible slick, steep and winding steps?"

She said, "Come as fast as you can, out of our house and to the top of the hill. We will all climb together to safety at the top of the hill."

But he had not walked the stairs in a long time. He had not learned their secrets and he had no strong leg muscles to climb to the top of the hill.

She said, "Come dear children, we shall move away to a flat land with lots of room to spread out without stairs so we can share our love together."






(written by Brenda Wright during a writing retreat in Morocco. The stairs scared her to death and it seemed that each place they stayed had some steep, winding and very narrow stairs to climb.)

Friday, March 20, 2020

Number Twenty-seven

     She headed east on her lonely travel, swiping to clear away hordes of buzzing flies doing their thing in the patch of sunshine before the shade of the largest tree around.
     “I’ll go twenty-seven steps up,” she whispered to herself. “Only twenty-seven then I can stop and rest.”
     At the appropriate number of steps, no more, no less, a large cool boulder caught her sight. A rock with a seat exactly her height for sitting upon to rest her tired weight.
     “This is good,” she said. “I am meant to be here. From here I can see the sheer rock wall ahead. But, from here I can also still hear the warning calls of the cock below.”
     Birds chirping near her told of all the excitement ahead but the foreboding call of the cocks told her there was danger and she was old.
     “What else has made it this far,” she wondered.
     Tiny little heads of yellow and purple flowers, no more than a couple of inches above the ground proved that this was an unforgiving place and no extra energy to grow tall and magnificent should ever be expended in this high thin air.
     “Go on,” chirped the noisy chorus of birds.
     “No, you need to rest and go easy,” the small flowers shouted as they desperately clung to their rocks.
     The old lonely woman focused her tired eyes on the leaves of various shapes and tones of green covering the verdant hills leading up to the sheer rock cliff to the East for which she was headed.
     It can be climbed and she knew it.  But the stunted flowers reminded her that there is a price to pay for reaching such heights, a price to pay for going East all alone through the thinning cold air.
      She is weary but drawn to the other side and takes another twenty-seven steps East.


(Written on the hillside of Chefchaouen, Morocco March 4, 2020.)

   Feb. 2022 my grandparents: Grandpa Fryer at top, then Grandma Fryer followed by Grandpa and Grandma Bowen with their family in the bottom...