(Carved rice bowl by Ridgely Schantz.)
The fortune teller holds out her bowl as you walk down the street. She is not so uncouth as to rattle it; still, the coins within swish gently across the bottom. You are intrigued enough by the bowl to stop – no paper or dented metal, this looks like fine china.
From the bowl, your eyes go to her face. She smiles and nods, dark eyes on you. “Your fortune?” she asks. Her voice is husky and inviting, and you find yourself nodding.
She shuffles, spreads the deck, and invites you with a gesture to pick a card. You mean to just grab the one on top, but your hand is drawn almost against your will to one near the middle. You draw it out hesitantly and hand it to her; she turns it over and slides the other cards out of sight.
The Story
a book, open
All stories are one story, and the story never ends. We choose places nearly at random to call beginnings and ends, but the chain is unbroken.
All our lives, the chain is unbroken.
We are made of stars and stories. And we are all part of the same story. The difference between me and you is as small as the difference between this page and the next.
Turn the page.
See what happens.
