a Novel — Part 21: Trolls

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“Hanuman’s oldest son was blessed with an outstanding memory. This is the story he told, and for which he in turned thanked the blessings of those many memories that had gone before him:

“Vishnu was bored.

“The sun and moon and stars and their many planets, one rounder than the next, spun their soft silent songs in perfect rhythm, all according to perfect plan and perfect wish.

“The light which emanated from the center of Vishnu, who is light and who will always be light, spread throughout the universe until it reached the end, and when it reached the end…

a Novel — Part 20: Esh

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Harriet was in better shape than any of us, that much was clear — well, not counting Attra, of course, who like a hunting dog would vanish far up ahead one moment only to return from far behind the next.

“Reconnoitering,” he said when I asked.

“Reconnoitering what?” I wondered.

“You never know,” he said. But I got the feeling he was just enjoying himself.

Well, as it happened, he wasn’t. He was looking for relays. First up ahead, and if nothing, circling back to make sure he didn’t miss one. And to protect us. The relays were cobras, young…

Above the Tree Line

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Up here now, arrived finally, away from the deer and the fire and the competitive crowding of the busy lowlands, arrived: on near enough the roof of the world, to think things over. He has been a while at climbing this mountain, say many millennia, now arrived at last as seed, carried by wind, buried by rain, burrowed now into the cold, damp, soon to be dry again, earth, under crisp, oxygen-poor air. Burrowed and listening to the slow rumble of planet, for the heart of the Earth is audible to his kind. And what he hears is anguish.


My Troll Mother

As a rule, people do not believe that trolls exist.

Well, I do, I know they exist; for I have two mothers, Lisbet, my flesh and blood mom and Minta, my troll ditto. They were both there at my birth, my mom Lisbet in pain, my troll mom Minta not in the least.

When Lisbet clung the newly minted me to her breast and cried a little, partly from relief that the ordeal was over but mostly from happiness that I had arrived unscathed, Minta stood to the side smiling from troll-ear to troll-ear. At one point, Lisbet thought she…

a Novel — Part 19: Attra

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When we had finished tea, I helped Madhuri clear the table and wash the cups and saucers. Harriet, whose sleep had been cut short by Attra and gang, was still a little tired, she said, and went to her room to rest. In fact, I was still a little tired too, so I followed suit once everything had been cleared away, and the kitchen was once again as clean and shiny as Madhuri insisted it be.

Yes, I had hoped to nap a little but once I had lain down and closed my eyes, the heavy slithering across my legs…

a Novel — Part 18: Madhuri

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The house looked the same. So much the same that it tried to whisk me back to bare feet and uncut hair. It was the inability to open my right eye more than anything else that kept me in the present.

The house had always been ringed by a low, quite ornate, but partly rusted metal fence with a padlockable gate — the padlock, long since rusted open, hanging uselessly by its eye. The gate creaked from disuse and age, much like a hoarse doorbell, but swung open easily enough. …

Ulf Wolf

Raised by trolls in northern Sweden, now settled on the California coast a stone’s throw south of the Oregon border. Here I meditate and write. Wolfstuff.com.

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