between worlds

          Thickafog!
          That was Ling's word for the billowing fog drifting through cedar, alder and fir. Mists gentle as fairies breath alighted on head-tall ferns, wild blackberry and elderberry, good for making jam and wine for the sideboard. She wore Hank's CPO jacket and was blazing a trail in search of an abandoned strawberry field. Go there, he had said, if ever you feel the need to visit Bernice.
          Forest murmers.
          There! A whitetail deer!
          Hers was a careful tread, one moccasin in front of the other, as if walking a highwire. Ahead on the wispy path, beside a Douglas fir, its bark covered with a pelt of lichen and moss, stood Bernice. A wraith draped in black from head to foot. The hood of her cloak was slightly pushed back, revealing a most  lucent face. Ling greeted her: "Are you the good witch of the woods?"
          "Among other things. Hello, dear friend."
          "Where have you been?"
          "Between worlds."
          "What have you learned?"
          "That I am not immortal. In the corporeal sense."
          Ling frowned. "What about mind-over-matter? It appeared for a while that you had self-evolved into being, um, beyond human."
          Bernice arched an eyebrow. "Indeed?"
          Ling waited for an aswer.
          Bernice smiled, a nano-nod. "Many things that once mattered do not now. Having a full-time body is one of them."
          "What does matter then?"
          "I feel a need to help people in their transitions."
          "Are you an angel?"
          "Heavens No!"
          They laughed together, silver sisters of light.
          Bernice smiled that certain smile and said, "I can be with you always, if you desire. Let's walk a while."
          Her smile reminded Ling of the mural at the Cannabis Cafe.
     


          Once more Dawn touched her world with Rosy Fingers.
          Looking out the great window, Maxine marveled. Saying to herself, "I don't think Old Homer was blind at all."
          Hank was outside already, lashing the canoe to the roof of the Rover. Above the potico the cabin's exterior was alive with ivy and honeysuckle. Spring blossums drank dew. In the scarlet azalea Ling had planted.
          "Let's go, Max!"
          "Coming!"