Mesha Dreams in Ink.

The Orchard’s Song

She began to write, as if the words were spilling from
her without control.
Her pen danced across the paper, as though
the orchard itself guided her hand, as though
the god whispered through her, speaking of
things buried deep beneath the soil.

The words were not hers - they
were the words of the god,
memories that had been sealed
away, but had been waiting,
waiting for someone to listen.

And when the people read her poems,

they remembered.

They remembered the god buried beneath the trees.

They remembered the harvests,

the prayers, the blood that had once 
soaked the ground.

But remembering was dangerous.

Because remembering woke the god.

And the god had been buried for a reason.