They walked beneath the trees of the Grove, each step slow and intentional. Breathwoven, the space between, the weaver of time, the keeper of the liminal, shook his head wondering when she would stop.
"And that's the story of how I fell into quicksand not once... not twice... but THREE TIMES in my life! Who does that happen to? Me! Just me! I though it was just a myth, quicksand... but no... it's real and it's a danger. Maybe I should put out some sort of a warning. A pamphlet, or a cautionary allegory."
Breathwoven smiled gently, reminding himself that this is what he signed up for.
"Do you want to hear the story about how I accidentally stayed at a sex hotel and "free HBO was code for porn? And the bed was just a 2 inch matress on a piece of plywood? And the towels in the bathroom were used?"
"Bridget," Breathwoven started, "Listen carefully... it is important that you learn from air spirits, like myself."
Bridget perked up. She loved when Breathwoven gave her advice.
"Air does not say every single thought it births. Air gives thoughts space to swirl and dance and play before threading infinite stories together."
"Breathwoven! That is the most poetic way anyone has ever told me to shut up in my entire life... and a lot of people have told me to shut up!"
"No, no, no," Breathwoven was a bit embarrassed that he had been seen through, "you have been telling stories for three straight days. Maybe you need to take a break."
"Maybe you need a break," Bridget said defiantly. "I am human. I am more than just air, and right now I'm burning. This is joy and passion and self-expression. And I am sharing it with you. Telling these stories makes me feel electric, but I don't need to tell them to you. You keep working and I will go tell stories to my dog instead."
Breathwoven sighed, half in clarity, half in resignation to his role. "I'm sorry, Bridget, you are right. You are doing something important. Please continue."
And she did. For four more days, stories poured out of her soul like a trail of breadcrumbs.