rooting through the bowl of cranberries nestled at the feet of Apollo, stood a towering eight-point buck whose coat glowed undeniably, brilliantly white against the dark foliage. Huge planes of muscle shifted and rippled beneath the stark white pelt.
As if sensing the weight of our gaze, the great animal looked up, his muzzle flecked with saliva and bits of red berries. His eyes were gentle and dark, like deep silent pools of stillness.
He looked at me first, blinking and letting out a raspy snuffle. And then his gaze turned to Jude. He stared at Jude for a long time, his ear twitching absently, and then he bowed, lowering himself slowly on his muscular front legs. He lowered his head, his great horns dropping in front of him, and stood like that for a moment before rising back to his full height. He stood watching Jude for a moment longer and then turned his attention back to the bowl of cranberries.
I sat back on my knees, and Jude knelt naked beside me, taking my hand in his and gently kissing my palm.
“Believe,” he whispered, raising his cool eyes to mine.
* * *
Epilogue
Jude says we imagine barriers to our own happiness. We look for all the ways life has elected to punish us but never quite see the bounty laid at our feet. I suspect he’s right about this. I resisted him for a long time, telling myself that our divergent beliefs were an insurmountable barrier. I suppose that was me living out the final remnants of my parents’ unhappy, intractable religious legacy.
I didn’t tell Jude this, but the night before the party, I lay in bed and I prayed for a sign: some supernatural recognition that it was okay to be with this amazing, iconoclastic man. Since September 11, my prayers have transformed from direct theistic entreaties to rambling pleas for intercession by the spirit of my beloved sister. This would surely have given my mother a heart attack, or at least, thrown her into a histrionic riff on the theme of idolatry, but it seemed natural to me then. I would have sought Dana’s support, maybe even her permission, in life. How different is it to lay in bed and pray for some sign of her otherworldly approval?
And then to see the white stag step out of the forest at the moment our souls were most surely intertwined… it was breathtaking. A sign from Dana? A sign from the universe? Are they not one and the same now?
Jude says the world around us offers us living sacraments if we can somehow manage to let down the barriers, open our hearts, and believe.
I believe he’s right.
Got Mistletoe Madness ?
The Dreamspinner Press 2009 Advent Calendar is available at http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
About the Author
Jamie Freeman is a north Florida native who works a day job to finance his nighttime passions for writing, reading, and watching old movies. He has collected a personal library that already threatens the structural integrity of his spare bedroom but continues to grow unfettered. He’s an avid trail runner who spends mile after mile spinning dreams into fiction. He has published a children’s book and a string of short stories and is always working on several new projects. An anthology that included one of his short stories won a 2009 Lambda Literary Award.
Visit his blog at http://nickdreamsong.blogspot.com/.
Copyright
The White Stag ©Copyright Jamie Freeman, 2009
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
As if sensing the weight of our gaze, the great animal looked up, his muzzle flecked with saliva and bits of red berries. His eyes were gentle and dark, like deep silent pools of stillness.
He looked at me first, blinking and letting out a raspy snuffle. And then his gaze turned to Jude. He stared at Jude for a long time, his ear twitching absently, and then he bowed, lowering himself slowly on his muscular front legs. He lowered his head, his great horns dropping in front of him, and stood like that for a moment before rising back to his full height. He stood watching Jude for a moment longer and then turned his attention back to the bowl of cranberries.
I sat back on my knees, and Jude knelt naked beside me, taking my hand in his and gently kissing my palm.
“Believe,” he whispered, raising his cool eyes to mine.
* * *
Epilogue
Jude says we imagine barriers to our own happiness. We look for all the ways life has elected to punish us but never quite see the bounty laid at our feet. I suspect he’s right about this. I resisted him for a long time, telling myself that our divergent beliefs were an insurmountable barrier. I suppose that was me living out the final remnants of my parents’ unhappy, intractable religious legacy.
I didn’t tell Jude this, but the night before the party, I lay in bed and I prayed for a sign: some supernatural recognition that it was okay to be with this amazing, iconoclastic man. Since September 11, my prayers have transformed from direct theistic entreaties to rambling pleas for intercession by the spirit of my beloved sister. This would surely have given my mother a heart attack, or at least, thrown her into a histrionic riff on the theme of idolatry, but it seemed natural to me then. I would have sought Dana’s support, maybe even her permission, in life. How different is it to lay in bed and pray for some sign of her otherworldly approval?
And then to see the white stag step out of the forest at the moment our souls were most surely intertwined… it was breathtaking. A sign from Dana? A sign from the universe? Are they not one and the same now?
Jude says the world around us offers us living sacraments if we can somehow manage to let down the barriers, open our hearts, and believe.
I believe he’s right.
Got Mistletoe Madness ?
The Dreamspinner Press 2009 Advent Calendar is available at http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
About the Author
Jamie Freeman is a north Florida native who works a day job to finance his nighttime passions for writing, reading, and watching old movies. He has collected a personal library that already threatens the structural integrity of his spare bedroom but continues to grow unfettered. He’s an avid trail runner who spends mile after mile spinning dreams into fiction. He has published a children’s book and a string of short stories and is always working on several new projects. An anthology that included one of his short stories won a 2009 Lambda Literary Award.
Visit his blog at http://nickdreamsong.blogspot.com/.
Copyright
The White Stag ©Copyright Jamie Freeman, 2009
Published by
Dreamspinner Press
4760 Preston Road
Suite 244-149
Frisco, TX 75034
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com
Cover Design by Mara McKennen
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
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