Dreamers

Fiorella is thnking that what separates us from the beasts is our imaginations.  We make up stories about plants and about animals and ourselves and each other, about heaven and earth, and what is beyond heaven and earth.  And some of these stories turn out to be true.

Fear of the Dark

Following up on yesterday's post, Fiorella wonders if fear of the dark is part and parcel of the human genome, and if our wayback ancestors  countered it by gathering around a warm, protective fire and telling each other stories with happy endings.

Story Source

Before Fiorella wrote stories, she told them--to herself while she lay in bed at night.

Fio was afraid of the dark, or, more correctly, of what might lurk in the dark.  Her family had just moved from Ohio to Texas and everything was new and strange--and scary.  Instead of having a cozy little room next to her parents' bedroom,  Fio had a large room at the front of the house, and the filmy curtains would blow in the evening breeze, reaching out toward her on the bed like ghostly hands.  And, unlike the house in Ohio, this one had just one story, which meant someone--or something--could leap in on Fio at any minute.

Fio couldn't sleep, but she needed to sleep, so she calmed herself by making up happy stories.  As she grew older, the stories were based on her mother's Book-of-the-Month selections, then on her own reading.  And every story had a happy ending.

As do her stories now.