Egypt
Not long ago a young woman made a peculiar discovery. Under a tree, wrapped tightly in lamb skin, placed in a now rotting cask, she found a treasure.
There was jewelry so magnificent as not to be believed, but more important, there was a breast plate made of precious stones and silver plates working together like mesh.
She hid the breast plate with its picture, not sure of the meaning of the picture. Knowing the other things will be taken from her, for all things belong to the state and no citizen can keep any of the things they might find, she vowed that they would not find the breast plate and she would return for it when it is safe. It had to be taken to the teachers. The breast plate is part of a message the teachers were looking for.
She drew a resemblance of this thing, picture and all. It was inlaid with different colors of abalone. There were stones with which she was unfamiliar. The pastels were so beautiful and the craftsmanship remarkable. It was finely and intricately made, not at all heavy as one would expect.
The sun had climbed and begun its decent, almost to obscurity. The young woman approached the hiding place caustiously, someone has found the place.
A quick glance informed her that part of the jewelry had been stolen, all that was left wer bracelets and rings. The necklace gone, it had looked like a great pheonix rising, its stones brilliant. She counldn't make out all the other things, they hadn't caught her eye and there hadn't been enough time to inspect each piece.
As she knelt beneath the tree where she had hidden the cache, the moving water that crept by the Cyprus lent a dank smell to the air, the ground sandy, cool and damp. Looking at the discarded lamb skin, words on it now visible, she read, "ou za la oui', zen be deaux moi, chez teti' oui' le deaux". With puzzlement on her face and not understanding the words or their origin, she rumpled the lamb skin up placing in under her belt.
Quickly retreating, she held the rest of cache close to her body, determined to find yet another place of interment.
Golden Disc
Memories, centuries old,
hidden deep, locked
away tight.
Scattered through out
time, waiting quietly,
just out of sight.
Purple cast the die,
sprinkled with peacock
and gold.
Circular, shinning plate,
ancient are your
Symbols.
A warning long forgotten,
still safe with the
Watcher.
The sands continue to shift.
Once Before Index
cafe
Art, graphics, prose and poetry are by Snowfire unless stated otherwise.
Copyright © 1999 Snowfire
All Rights Reserved
