Beloved Goddess,
Do you remember me? I was told when I was very small that I am your daughter, and I have countless sisters, too... I have only a vague, distant memory of you. If I close my eyes and look deep within, I can almost see your face smiling at me. And a very faint sense of your touch, of being held and caressed by your gentle hands, lingers still. Memories are so faded, I wonder if you are but a dream...
When I asked my ancient grandmother to please tell me something of you, she got a far off look in her eyes just before a smile began to spread across her wrinkled face. Then, she softly laughed and whispered your name: Nu Kwa, sweet little Nu Kwa...
She told me that she remembers you as a girl... always at the waters edge, playing with dolls that you made out of soft yellow clay. Each lovingly fashioned, and every one given a name and a soulful purpose that you alone decreed. For hours you would sit there, humming to yourself, while at play, she said. Your eyes bright with happiness as you gathered wee petals from peony flowers, small twigs, single willow leaves that were carefully removed from the stem, and feathers from baby birds. She told me you would use these to make clothes and houses for your beloved 'children'.
She told me that she remembers you as a girl... always at the waters edge, playing with dolls that you made out of soft yellow clay. Each lovingly fashioned, and every one given a name and a soulful purpose that you alone decreed. For hours you would sit there, humming to yourself, while at play, she said. Your eyes bright with happiness as you gathered wee petals from peony flowers, small twigs, single willow leaves that were carefully removed from the stem, and feathers from baby birds. She told me you would use these to make clothes and houses for your beloved 'children'.
Ooh, how gently she would push aside a tear that unknowingly escaped her lashes and spilled over her cheek when she recalled how lovely you were - a pretty little bird, she affectionately called you. Yet, grandfather said you were a serpent girl. (And, he spit on the ground! I cried not knowing why he would be so gruff - I only asked him if he could remember the colour of your eyes...)
Grandmother let me sit beside her for hours listening as she sorted rice; asking questions only when she seemed to be lost in thought.
She did not tell me where you are, or why you left us... She did not want to tell me any real details that I long to know. I hope you will remember me, as I long to see your face again and know your stories. Perhaps you'll come home, and visit me when you are not so busy. Please, Mother. Please.
Grandmother let me sit beside her for hours listening as she sorted rice; asking questions only when she seemed to be lost in thought.
She did not tell me where you are, or why you left us... She did not want to tell me any real details that I long to know. I hope you will remember me, as I long to see your face again and know your stories. Perhaps you'll come home, and visit me when you are not so busy. Please, Mother. Please.
Thank you.
-Yours devotedly
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