Taking One Look At Him, Something Dawned On Me. He Was Like Me, Looked Like Me In A Sense. He Had The

"Alright," the stranger sighed, "what's with the orange peels?"

I was laying some fragments of orange peels out to dry for black gold and others near some potted carnivorous plants that needed to be fed.

"Black gold," I said as I pointed to the ones drying on the sunlit stone. "Plant food." I pointed to the other peels that were already attracting flies.

"I thought that those plants didn't like any nutrients in their soil," he remarked as he gracefully draped himself across a fallen log in the shadow of a large maple. "And I though that you hated potting plants."

"They don't. But they still need food, just not food like the others." I sat down not too far from him, in the shade too. "I don't like potting plants but a kid asked me for a plant that wasn't like any others."

"So, obviously, you chose..." he propped himself up, "what is that, anyway?"

"Dionaea. A fly trap." I cast my gaze back to the potted plant that just caught a decent size fly. "I had to do a lot of trading to get a hold of that plant."

"If it was such a hassle to get, why did you?"

"The kid was curious about the world outside our boarders." I looked him dead in the eyes and told him, "Tell me how I could have said 'no'." I settled in a position similar to his. "When I see the kid again, I plan on giving it to him as a gift."

After I said that, he settled back down on his log, lost in thought.

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"And you're sure that this will work?" I questioned the tinkers I'd assigned to this position.

"Almost completely certain," the head tinker confirmed. He looked more wisened than the others. If my memory is right, he has been a tinker since he was a lad.

"If it does work," I started as I looked into it's hollow eyes, "it will save many lives."

It looked like the twelve that were already here when I came to power but it held some semblance to some of my brother's, as well.

"It's ready when you are, your majesty," the head tinker said.

"Hour thirteen," I stated with authority, "what do you see?"

The eyes lit up with a hollow orange color as it was activated.

"I see the fall of night," it replied. The wording was odd.

"Does it work?" I turned to the tinker who stood beside me. He was younger than the head tinker, his hair was comforting like the autumn.

"Well, it is dusk. So, I guess it does," he answered me in a meek tone. This tinker worked day and night on how it was supposed to work and behave.

"I'm not allowing it out unless you're sure it works," I told him in a tone that I would use with nightmare victims.

He looked down, still timid.

"Are you sure this works?" I repeated, still as patient as ever.

"Yes, it works," he affirmed, more certain now.

I smiled. There was the spark I was looking for.

"Thank you for your service, Hour Thirteen," I thanked, directing my attention to the waiting clockwork soldier.

"The night will not be long," it said.

I didn't like how empty it sounded but the tinkers told me that as it aged, it would start filling up with moments.

"The night is never very long," I told it. Day always follows night.

The picture with me wearing blue gloves was taken on March 21st (when I planted some cacti seeds) and the other one was taken today (when I noticed my first sprout)! There's a little blip of green and that's my first sprout! :D

As to whether the Gavle Goat's consumption should be seen as a good omen or a bad omen, I'd say good. Traditionally the Yule goat is made of straw from the final harvest and as a talisman against hard times, and there are unproven theories that its shape is inspired by Thor's goats, who are constantly killed, eaten, and reborn to provide endless meat for Thor and whatever guests he entertains. Therefore, its use by birds as a food store and safe harbor is an affirmation of its original purpose and truly in the Christmas spirit of generosity in lean times. What's more, the birds eating it seems to be have been the one outcome to unite both goat burners and goat keepers, as they have decided not to scare the birds away from their safe harbor and not to harm the goat, a decision that has been universally lauded.

As omens go, this one's all positive: safety, plenty, and unity between previous ideological opponents through a creative third solution built on shared values (birds being fed and sheltered is a good thing). May more birds find their way to the Gavle Goat next year.

As we neared the next building in the abandoned town, the highwayman just offered me a hankie.

"Um. Why?" I questioned him as a light flurry fell between us.

"You've sneezed every time we go from direct sunlight," he told me as he looked up to the partially cloudy skies above, "into a building and vice versa."

Why would he care if I sneezed or not? It's just sneezing. Although, I never noticed that I did that before.

"Just get going," he muttered when he caught sight of my expression. But there was something else in his tone. He wasn't angry like I thought he'd be.

"Thank you," I whispered as I took the hankie; processing what I realized.

"You can thank me when we get to where we need to be."

Like he predicted, when we crossed into the threshold of the building, I sneezed.

My highwayman and I started picking out way through an abandoned fishing village. The snow piled up was ridiculous, so much that some buildings were almost completely buried.

The sound of noise of something walking on snow made him freeze.

A clockwork soldier meandered its way around a building a little further down the lane.

"Maybe we shoul-"

"Excuse me!" I called out to the bypassing clockwork soldier.

It stopped and clicked as it turned to face both of us.

"Which hour are you?"

It clunked and clicked over to us.

"I am hour eleven," it informed me.

"Do you have anything to report?" the highwayman questioned it, his hands clasped behind his back.

The clockwork soldier gave a long spiel and all the while, the highwayman was scribbling down something. He always kept up with hour eleven.

"Thank you for your report but I need you to stay for a moment," my highwayman replied as he glossed over his notes.

"That's a bad word," I meekly pointed out one that always meant bad things.

He sighed out an agreement as he made circular movements around some markings he made.

The clockwork soldier chirped when the highwayman addressed him.

"Hour eleven, do you have access to the king at any moment?"

"When I am not active mostly but, yes, when I am active."

"Alright, I have a response to the king's proclamation."

The gentle king was surrounded by many children, as if he himself was one.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hold in my tears.

Why was it that I couldn't have that? Why did I have to be feared?

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I was getting emotional over a picture used to tell tales to children.

Through foggy eyes, I looked back at the kind; fabled king. Why couldn't he be real?

“I thought the goddess of love would look…different.” The wrinkled old woman waved a dismissive hand, leaned closer, and smiled. “You are thinking of my daughter, the goddess of passion and romance. Dearie, I am the goddess of LOVE.”

Gävlebocken 26/12/23

Zombie goat!