Violet Craft

Violet Craft

Monday, April 23, 2012

Memoir... of Madrona Road


Memoir by Violet Craft

Once upon a time in the windy lands of the Old West a baby girl was born to a rooted father and a gypsy mother. Her father loved her mother very much; but as the wolf needs to roam so does a gypsy. It took a village to raise the wee child. And as she grew she began to raise the village.


Alas, the winds called her to seek her soul in the desert, the forests and the sea. She explored and roamed and filled her well deep with  knowledge and experience. The little gypsy girl was all grown up and soon she grew weary of the dissonance and longed for a steadfast place to call home. Once again taking to the road she traveled across the land with her trusty sidekick Buster eventually settling in the City of Bridges.



The winds had led to her soulmate and during a single moon she fell deeply in love with the robot maker. As the moss grows on trees in Forest Park so did the girl’s roots. After battling an evil giant she vowed never to climb ladders again and once again went in search of her soul. Stitch by stitch she pieced her soul together, sometimes unravelling again and again before she tied all the loose threads together, completing her nest.


And in it she placed her two young ducklings. The Princess and her Prince of the Pacific Northwest raised their two in a beautiful castle in the city under the watchful eye of the Griffin. The Princess longed for a simpler life without the troubles of castles and imperial dragon keepers. She began to run, simply so she could slow down. The Prince spent his days engineering the webs of others, dreaming of meads and ales. The country mouse and her prince grew restless in their beautiful city.


Onwards to the sea they were beckoned, bringing their brood with them in search of a farmstead; a place to call home, for weary travelers to rest, to listen to the land and create. And so it was to be that the family settled in a little house with a big life on Madrona Road.  Follow the smell of hops and barely on the wind, turn left at the donkey by the mailbox and when you see Mrs. Catterson next to the Tulips, you’re home. But heed caution, for goats indeed stand guard, fabric flows deeply, the tap never dries and there’s always room for a good friend. Good night my little ducklings, all in a row. Sweet Dreams.