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I dream in shades of green. The dusty hue of swallow herb; the new growth of little hand flower; the deep forest shade of cat’s claw. Plants are my calling and, as in waking life, they sprawl across boundaries.

The old woman dreams of deaths to come.

I wake to the sound of little explosions — ta-ta-ra-ta-ta — of copal cast into flame. When I come into my full power, the old woman will teach me the secret prayers, the ones only our kind intone because none other have such need to see under and beyond the world…

Short story in Long Hidden, Crossed Genres, 2014, out of print

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