Book Excerpt and Behind the Scenes: The Worm(hole) Moon
Here’s a little peek into my book, Magic Flowers—the first chapter with photos I used for inspiration.
It was early springtime in Ponoka.
The time of year when the snow still clung to the ground, but the sun rose a little earlier over the prairie each morning. The time of year when the wind nipped everyone’s ears less frequently, and Mary could walk to school each morning, her hands shoved into her grey wool coat pockets.
The hint of twilight in the sky kept her company.
It wouldn’t be until the snow fully melted in April that she’d start spotting the wildflowers on the way to school. Harebells, Coltsfoot, and Wild Roses. They wouldn’t be blooming quite yet, but she still knew them by their leaves’ shapes, colors, and textures.
Mary thought about this while she walked the old, worn dirt path to school, breathing in the smell of woodsmoke that weaved itself through the ozone in the crisp air. The promise of flowers blooming always encouraged her on dark, chilly mornings.
With the light of the full moon shining down on her, Mary could see her breath sway in the air as she approached the log and sod one-room schoolhouse. The sign above the entrance read Ponoka County Rural School. At twelve, she was the oldest student in Miss Tansy’s classroom.
She opened the door and stepped across the threshold. Her fingers fumbled around in the dark until they found the soft cardboard box of matches sitting on the little wooden shelf just left of the doorway. She picked it up, opened the tiny paper drawer, took out a wooden matchstick, and struck it against the side of the box.
A quick blaze flared up at the end of the match. The strong scent of sulfur stung her nose. The wooden floorboards creaked under her as she quickly made her way around the room, lighting all the kerosene oil lamps on the shelves and tables before that first match could burn the tips of her fingers.
She took a moment to admire the warm orange glow illuminating the schoolhouse. She watched the dancing shadows cast folktales on the walls and listened to the wind trying to find its way inside.
She took a deep breath and felt her small body relax.
This was her favorite part of the day. A slice of time all to herself before Miss Tansy and the rest of the students arrived.
Her magic hour.
With the box of matches still in her hand, she approached the black cast-iron potbelly stove in the middle of the room. She knew this ritual by heart. First, she opened the big door on the front of the stove. After making sure the flue and the vent at the bottom of the furnace were open, she sat in front of the stove, legs tucked under her.
Every evening before leaving the classroom, Miss Tansy placed that day’s newspaper on top of the crate of pine logs they burned for heat. Mary began crumpling the sheets of newsprint and, one by one, placed the paper orbs inside the stove.
Next, she took out her pocketknife from her right leather ankle boot, careful not to get any ink from the newspaper on her white cotton dress or freshly washed wool stockings. She picked up a log and began cutting kindling, stacking each shred of pine in a loose pyramid inside the stove. She struck another match and tossed it in, spreading the flame across the discarded paper stories. She packed in a few more logs, then paused before shutting the stove door.
The smell of woodsmoke and bubbling pine resin, sharp and sweet, swirled around her, and the crackling of the fire was comforting as it warmed her young face. As she stared into the hearth that morning, something new happened.
“Oh, my,” she breathed, her pupils dilating. She tasted spit and salt and felt her heart thump. Exhilarated, she leaned into the experience and let go entirely as her consciousness traveled across the vast cosmos, a trail of rainbow prism light trailing behind her like a comet.
When her awareness returned to the room, she closed the stove door, stood up, and walked over to the little window by the door. The sun was just starting to rise on the other side of the schoolhouse, and she saw her reflection against the new morning sky. Her brown eyes stared back at her, and she took the time to braid her long wavy hair, securing the end with a lavender ribbon she kept in her pocket.
She never told anyone what she saw that morning after lighting the fire in that potbellied stove, but after that experience, she learned all she could about the stars, picking up any book she could find about astrophysics, astronomy, and astrology.
She studied math and science and wanted to know what else was out there in the universe.
Who else was out there?
She dreamed of interdimensional space travel.
And she desperately longed to touch the soft dusty surface of the moon.