The Fool’s Return

A woman walked between worlds—dusk and dawn, silence and story, storm and stillness. Neither earth nor sky could hold her. She moved like a whisper, a question, a shifting wave.

Her constant, a black coyote-dog, eyes ancient, salt-flecked coat. When she forgot her name, it remembered. When she wandered, it led her home.

They traveled through many lands before they found their way to the home they never knew.

The tide called—not a wave, but a voice; not a place, but a memory. She followed it to Galveston, where seafoam met roses and winds carried secrets.

There, she returned to herself and the great creator mother. She built a garden of memory, an apothecary of dreams, bottling wishes, weaving stories into spells. The island named her the Rose-kissed Callieach.

Still, the coyote walked beside her.

The Fool’s journey was never about the path, but about becoming the walker. Now, she crafts magic in every