My more than exquisite sense of direction has spread from suburb to suburb like a storm. Stupendously, I’ve known this sense since the heart within me took beat. From that womb, I produced a compass that intertwined with the cells of my brain and it has yet to fail me. So marvelous tis its honey – colored needle; oh gracious, it puts that red needle to shame! But to my utter dismay, several frosts ago, my usually awed talent was made a mockery of.
With my cheeks a berry red and the compass dancing oh so feverishly in my head, I beckoned to the bearded hunters who huddled their map; a disgruntled fixation toying with their expressions, “Cease your role-play; I get the point – you’re asking for my help, so let me think and then I’ll point.”
They raised furrowed brows, pleased with my observation and chuckled so fiercely I knew my feet were planted right. Thus I squinted my eyes very tightly and the compass whispered its command; a breeze mingling with wisps of my hair. Ah, so gentle its words and yet so wise. My eyes fluttered open, fluffs of snow clinging to my lashes and I then bent down and scooped away the snow until the ground was bare.
The gentleman huffed, perhaps feeling dumbfounded as I pressed my ear to the frozen dirt. Thump. Thump. Thump. I counted each beat and did the math in my head then jerked my head right and smelt the wind. So foul and earthy twas it! With a final note of the variables to the atmosphere, I hummed their beat; a metronome twas I! The men mumbled urgently and I cast aside their words – why did they dare interfere?! The compass’s message for my ears was just about here! Then a swish from behind unveiled the path in my head so on my toes I spun and pointed with a smirk.
“Don’t you see?” said I, smiling with pride, “The compass bellows there! So sharpen your bows and off you go, to the dwellings of the hare!”
The men exchanged shrugs and elbows, then forth stepped one with a scratch at his head, “Miss, your intentions are swell, but the path just isn’t well. You’ve directed us south when our course clearly forbids it. So we must disregard ye’s advice.”
“You doubt the compass, you blistering fool! You underestimate all that it can do?!”
The man sighed, “Your mind is bugged and your heart is apparently tugged, but how can ye expect us to believe one who has lost sanity?”
“Bugged?,” asked I quietly at first, “Bugged?! You dare insult the compass of my creation?! Oh my, the disrespect you all present is insulting to the magnificent. So farewell, I pray your minds don’t wilt, yet,” I turned to leave, whispering bemusedly, “I agree Compass and must suppose they already have.”
© Copyright 2016 Keeper of Hope. All rights reserved.
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