Sometimes, I'll have a fragment of a diary for Seed, not long or involved enough to really qualify for their own blog, but still a good snapshot of Seed's mind. I used to always delete them, basically. So, rather than give each their own blogs, or delete them, I'm going to put them all in one place. Big entries will still be on their own, though. I'm not sure what makes one one or the other the other, but I'll do whatever amuses me. I may create versions of these for other deer of mine.

7-7-10
I practiced some ninjitsu with Kinsha today; I am not a good ninja, though -- my antlers are too big to hide efficiently. I suppose that's why he wears the sleeker butterfly set. Even though my antlers weren't prepared, birds kept swarming on the tops of my antlers, giving my location in the rocks away.
I had a better time when I came back and found Quad and Kinsha among the blueberries. We danced and chatted and sat a while -- I'm not really sure anymore what on earth we were talking about; I think the blueberries had something to do with how the conversation whirled and whizzed and banged, exploding like tiny fireworks above our heads. I was a much better ninja among the blueberries, the green of my pelt and the leaves sliding together, the texture of scales lost among the texture of glossy leaves, the purple flowers not alarming among the blue, bulbous clusters of berries. Saosin came and joined in, too, as we sat.
I may have gotten a little tipsy -- the fermented ones are mixed in with the sweet ones, so their flavors become indistingushable, bitter and sweet, like honey wine...Like the dreams we feed to gods, in their halls that exist in the aether, that thing that once filled the heavens and gave it full of space and breath... Heh. Yes, I'm most definately a little tipsy.


7-14-10
We didn't do much today, Nevilly and I -- danced a little with a fawn, ran around, tried her on as a charming hat... She's the perfect flower on my antlers, light as her laughter. Her love for me is a wonder, even now -- like watching a butterfly emerge from a cocoon, its soggy wings unfolding, delicate as her slender legs, and revealing the beautiful patterns of a whole new world. My love for her...Is like a rock in my heart. At times it is heavy, but it's firm and solid; I can touch it, if I want, and know its little pits and its bright colors. And she arrives like the sun and casts her warmth onto it, until some cloud drives her off or dusk falls. But the heat stays. It makes my entire heart warm.

8-7-10
There's something that speaks to me, to see a deer who, alone, bounds and bounces as if surrounded by friends. I lack the courage for it, the strength of spirit...I try, but it never works. My thoughts turn inward and stillness takes me. But today I saw some cheerful stranger bounding among the flowers, and knew I had to meet him. I think I know the pictogram, but at the same time, it escapes me. He laughed easily and took me into his company, and we made bouncing, running circuits of the forest, meandering in whatever direction seemed fine. Sometimes we'd encounter other small groups, some laughing gaily, some -- like poor, sweet Kaoori -- sitting amongst the dead in quite contemplation. There were times I could barely keep up, and he'd dash ahead, then stop and wait for me.
I keep saying this, but I think I must be getting rather old. But maybe it's just the summer heat wearing me down; maybe it will pass. I want running to feel free again. But that's not important right now. I'd thank him for his patience, if I could. I wore out shortly after we joined into a larger group, and had to say goodbye.
I'd like to see him again, if I could, that stag who bounded among the flowers.

8-24-10
The seasons are turning; the air is gaining a hint of autumn coolness. To my delight, I'm feeling much better. A cool wind blows a fallen leaf, but also some life back into my bones. Autumn, season of dying, comes as a sudden rush of life. How puzzling.
Today, having greeted the returned Celeste, I decided to enjoy some time with a deer I knew to be of a good nature who I had not spent much time with: Silence. I enjoyed it immensely. We did a little of the standard frolicking, and used that still-uncertain new magic to get in touch with our inner fawns...By, of course, getting in touch with our outer fawns, still clad in our normal sets. Until they wore off, anyway, and then we changed back to normal and joined a small dance party that very quickly became a larger one. There were many familiar faces there: Kaoori, Vipin, deer I recognized but could not name...They came and went, and after Silence left, I lingered with Kaoori and Vipin, and sat for a while beside then, looking back at the deeper forest with the lake at our backs. Then Kaoori got up and began to run to De Drinkplaats; I think she may have wanted to regain her usual appearance, but what we ended up doing there was dancing: her as a full-size deer, and I as a squirell that would scamper around her hooves between steps. We left shortly before I had to depart; for a moment, I wondered whether or not to nuzzle her before I left. She hadn't nuzzled me. We are not close. We are not distant. I stood there for a while, hoping she would make my choice of action for me. And then I thought that it would be very sad if we could not be close because I never tried. I gave her a nuzzle and left.
To the cool autumn winds, return, and new energies.

8-30-10 (fragment)
I woke up and found Saosin sitting besides a sleeping friend in the place where the Birch forest and First Forest merge together and mingle. There the tall grasses are in root-runner's touch of the short, cropped grasses; there the ferns can marvel at the stones. There the trees are birch and pine and all the mysterious treelife of the forest. The birch trees, I notice, have no saplings right now; I can hear by the whispers of the ones at the border that they're a little jealous. But time isn't quite real in the forest...

(here the entry trails off.)

9-23-10
It's an odd thing, watching someone else's life play out: the expressions of joy, of sorrow, that dance across their face and body. They, my sister and my dear friend, speak of personal things -- of sins and losses, of rage and sorrow. I give them their distance, watching if she needs me, until at last, she offers him... what? Sympathy? Forgiveness? A little of both? It's still a little stormy between them -- maybe it always will be. They're adults: they'll sort it out for themselves, I suppose... But there's love there. I hope it'll work out: I don't want my beloved sister or my dear old friend...hurting any longer. I've made my choice there, and cannot un-make it: if it works out between them, perhaps it'll make my choice right. That's a lot to ask, though.
After their talk, things devolved into the good-natured joking that occurs between friends, and we settled down into a patch of flowers, with the pair snuggled close. Anyone with eyes could see that there was a clear start and a clear end to them, where the light hit the darkness. Anyone with a heart knew that impression was mistaken. It's waking that makes distance, that adds knowledge that stings or burns, that pushes or pulls like the ever-changing moon...
Of course, Walter wouldn't let any stag that came by close to Lemon while she slept, save for an orca-pelted fellow... But, presumably, he wasn't rutting. And when she woke, Walter clearly began fighting the rutting stag again. I admit, even I got a little protective of her, though not to the degree Walter was. He left, and we settled back down, until I had to depart.

1-30-11
One of these days, I will write a poem for abiogenisis. One of these days, when I am bolder of heart and greater of word and can for a moment sieze the feeling of it all, the wild spectacle, frenetic and fantastic, so full of wonder there's not a heart that can't be free from it -- the way we become a forest that is a garden and a garden that is a fairie's ring of mushrooms, the way the magic reaches into our souls and changes us, where we are a teeming sea of deer chasing after light that sets you free -- free because the very earth is mutable. Free because there is no fate, because the ruins stretch out and vanish into mist, because gods can be deer and light and statues, because they change you, however briefly, into frogs or wrestlers or angels dark as night. Because there are rings of flowers, and, in the moment of siezing a new set for myself, can come up with the magic and the naturaly flowers intermixed, until the bright, dreamy haze of the magic is over both of them, and the soft silence of the ordinary is on both of them, and they may be the same thing, because there is no difference between the two types of flowers anymore.
...One of these days, I'll be able to say a poem of that. I must train for that -- does anyone have training ideas?

Meanwhile, Kaoori has had her baby, a darling little fawn. I'll have to keep an eye out for seeing her again. So tiny and so sweet -- I taught her a little bow to give while rearing, just to give her a little height in her greetings. I walked with the little family for a while, unsure of how close is too close. I always am. There is something about the intimacy of blood that's a little foreign to me -- Complex was too sudden a surprise, and too much like her dear mother, for me to really be sure of it. And yet, she's all there is. I want it, and can't intrude on it. Oh, silly Seed... Still, what you want as a fawn is what a part of you will always want. And what I wanted was a family. I've made one, the best I can -- and do not misunderstand me: they are the most precious things in the world, and I wouldn't trade them for anything. Not even blood. I suppose it is too much, to want both types of family. It just feels like there's something different there -- no more or less special, just a different sort of bond. That is how it seems.

...Come to that, I may indeed have one relative. Or something like it, anyway... No relative of mine now -- we don't even share a kingdom anymore, but... Somewhere out there, there is a tree -- maybe two -- No, no, I think my sort of tree self-polinates, so just the one... Who gave me life.
...
...
I shall ponder this matter further.



3-16-11

I'm not interested in games like these. Gustiro rages and fumes because I decided to see Virgil, leaving my friend (and such a bad friend I've been to him, and all others. Apologies aren't enough.) Friendship isn't like that -- I try to make sure my friendship is not like that. People aren't things to claim. Still, he can play what games he wants,in the end. And after we sit a while, he warms up. When Virgil falls asleep, we get up and play a bit. I don't know what sort of games, heh heh.

Then Virgil got up a while later, and acted in the strangest manner.I don't know what incited him, but he suddenly became very interested in marking the trees. He sits down on his hill as if waiting, and I worry just a little. Virgil is... 'more real' than most. He plays so whole-heartedly by the rules of a different world that it becoms beautifgul and incomprehensible to me, like the star-shedding spiral of distant galaxies. But what I mean to say is this: If he's worried about some threat, some other player in those games I don't fully grasp... Then he's hardly in a state to fight them. Not this timr of year.
But perhaps not -- things eventually settled down to what felt like normal sitting. Ads I said... I don't play games like these. I'm simply no good at them. Ah, well


12/25/11
I woke today in a silent forest; it happens often enough these days, that I find myself pulled to an empty facet of the forest; a place where the rain never falls, or the snow, because there is no beings but myself and the trees there. It's not unlike...The stretch of forest I was from. Originally. Back then...
The happiness I don't have now seemed so easy to earn back then. And maybe, back then, it really was easy. Well, easier for me. I miss the feeling of being run to; there's not a soul in the forest that has run, just to see me, in quite some time. I was thinking about that the other day, watching Virgil's back shrink farther and farther into the distance, seemingly without care. I know I'm just being oversensitive.

I'm sorry; I didn't mean for this to be such a troubled bit of writing. While I was waiting, hoping to see the two forests, the silent forest and the forest where snow fell, to fuse, I paced my way, following the trail of light from a flower-patch deep into the Birch Forest, where the earth goes red-clay and smells of iron and grain.
While I was there, I came upon an idea... I'm not sure if I'll be able to pull it off, but I hope so. I just need to do the legwork...And the poetry-work.


[=#006400][b]1-25-12[/[
I apologize that all that's come from me is silence... I... Haven't been well, perhaps. Somewhere along the line, I stopped being sad -- but I also never became happy in a meaningful way, and I was hollowed out like a taxidermy skin, preserved and empty, without the power to pose itself. Like a splinter where you take the wood out, but the flesh does not repair itself, and the hole remains as you step. It's a feeling like that, like living on a day when she sky is all grey clouds. Sometimes the sun pokes through, and the world looks alright... And then it's gone, and it's like it never was. That's the only way I can describe it, and it's made it hard for me to find something to say.

But it seems my poetry scavenger-hunt was well-recieved; I think I may do another... And... I've remembered something.
How nice it feels to hope to see someone. Not to say that there were not people -- so many people -- whom I hoped to see. There are. But it's a different sort of hoping. It's the hope the desert has for the rain: essential, but at the same time, so unlikely to arrive that the desert prepares; the deserts stores and stockpiles. It's longing, but there's less real hope. Only want, that one day the wind will turn, the rain will fall, and everything that's been waiting will stretch and bloom for that brief and shining moment.
But... It's also really nice, really, really nice... To hope to see someone I have reason to believe I'll actually see. Maybe one could call that "looking forward to seeing someone?" So I've met a few deer who I look forward to see.

I've had reason for that feeling, lately. And it's given me a little bounce back in my step.
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Presumably, there will be more.
"I shall ponder these matters further..."