The fortune teller: The divine holy sluts and the seige of Baza

She was spiritual, at least that's what she said in often repeated affirmations; the epithets of an old crone, worn wide and baggy. Abandoned, adopted, beaten. These things swirled about her, as a substantial  under skin. Great unmeshed stories that enveloped social gatherings, incessant and battering; a constant chattering of waves that drowned out all other conversations, till her tide, was the only one that would swim that day. I dont know why I mention it, except to say, it was what I noticed first. Beyond those at-a-first-glance easy settings, She was a bear trap; inwardly forging premises. Deep inside all that loose and easy; she moved like a fortress shut up tight. Dominant in places where she wielded power. She did not like me. It was from other mouths,and ears,that she got her bearings. And so she judged unappreciatively,for the brief moment she was ungratefully in my sights, before she flowed away. MB