(x = space)

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The Storyist

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Today is

After Hallowe’en

Liturgically, it’s All Saints’

And we sang a song

About the saints

At church,

Which is pretty much

What I knew

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Tomorrow is the liturgy

For those who died

To this life

And that is what I know

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But that for the intimately acquainted

There will be

Costumes and posadas

Special food

Meals in families

At gravesides,

The beauty of illumination

In the formal way we say it

An idiom

Half-euphemistic

The quick and the dead

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No, the dead

Are not so fast

And so we have to go to them

Except when they’re supernal—then

They’re the fastest

They might not heed

Friction,

They’re so fast

Faster than Earth turning

(a thousand miles an hour)

Or the thrumming of moth wings

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Who knows?

Maybe light speed

So fast, then,

As candlelight

And, too,

So easy

As wings

To those having wings

Now fast and easy

Visit us,

Love us

In older

And in newer ways

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The living and the dead

All mooshed together

In new minutes

In new ministries

Of grace and understanding

Could be without the understanding

For those who simply love

Who illuminate

The graveside

From all sides

With love

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And in the families

Of two or three or many more

Quick and dead

In all conditions

Hear and tell

Old and new stories

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C L Couch

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I came across a novel called The Last Cuentista.  It was only the cover—I don’t yet have the book.  And so I don’t know its own story (yet) but thought about an Anglo word in translation (for this Anglo) that might be Storyist.  Don’t worry, spell-check doesn’t like it.  (Or Cuentista.)

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The Last Cuentista by Donna  Barba Higuera, published by Piccadilly Press

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Photo by Camellia Yang on Unsplash

Edinburgh, 英国

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with apologies for what I do not understand but write about, anyway

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