UpSpark: A New Adult Inspirational Romance (The Five Elements Book 1)

by Nicole Wells

  Looking back to the central clearing, I see a woman with an elaborate shawl twirling around, the fabric fluttering around her. Jacob leans close and tells me it's a butterfly dance. I watch her perform, releasing herself to the movements. She flutters by, so natural, so present. I close my eyes and see sparks and I am the butterfly. I flit to a cacophony of color and smell, savor sweet nectar, alight on a new botanical treasure. "The earth laughs in flowers," wrote Ralph Waldo Emerson, and I join in the mirth. What a wonderful thing, the impracticality of flowers. What a beautiful creation, ostentatious wings.

  I sway back and forth with the beats, and Jacob joins me. I think we are all an extension of this living, breathing thing we have created. We keep it alive for as long as possible, but eventually, it passes into the night.

  We say goodbye to Grandmother Dream Walker and Brayden. I thank Brayden for all his help. I don't think I've ever met a cute guy that was so friendly and knowledgeable without having some ulterior motive. He comes off genuinely open and accommodating. I suspect his mom keeps him so honorable and easy going.

  Grandmother Dream Walker gives Jacob a beautiful pendant with what looks like a white morning glory in it. I think it's a shamanic talisman. It's a private moment, and I get the sense this is not something they would normally do out in the open. Her comments make it sound like she knows his family, and I can tell this gift is a big deal. He takes it with reverence and drapes the leather thong around his neck, tucking it away under his shirt. With great respect, he clasps her hands and thanks her for her help. It sounds like she will contact another Elder, a local medicine man, who will give us a personal tour of Grand Teton tomorrow. I am amazed again at the sense of giving and community this experience has allowed me to see.

  I know the clear light of morning and thoughts of the plans for the day will completely break the spell woven by the Powwow and the people here soon enough. So, back at our RV, I meditate extra long. I do not worry that the sparks come despite drinking more water. I just observe and experience them. Still under the mystical influence, my heart still brimming with love, I meditate on just one word: gratitude. My eyes leak ocean water while my hands grip my burnished red rock from Wyoming. Red in acupuncture is the color of fire, of the heart. I let my heart fire spread as the tears fall, feeling the balance of my fire and water regained once more.

  ——— ———

  THE NEXT DAY WE'RE OFF to Grand Teton National Park. It's unfortunately a bit of a blustery day, and I wear several layers. Jacob navigates me to where we can park our RV. The plan is to hike from here to a restaurant in a lodge where we'll meet the Elder, and from there hike around Jenny Lake to the hidden waterfall. Since it's cold, we figure to allot time to take a leisurely pace. Then we'll head back and set up camp for the night.

  We've got our backpacks, including water and bear spray. My phone is fully charged so I can take lots of pictures. I hop out of the RV and turn to walk with Jacob when I notice he’s carrying a beautifully carved hiking stick.

  “Wow, where’d you get that?” I’m surprised I haven’t noticed it before. It’s a light wood, but aged darker brown. I can tell it’s gotten a lot of use. I bend forward to peer closer, not waiting for his reply.

  “Umm, Cloverleaf?” His voice is strained as he lifts the walking stick up. I straighten up with it, belatedly realizing I was looking uncomfortably close to his anatomy, at the same time I realize he is blushing furiously.

  He thrusts the walking stick towards me, like he is incapable of speech and not making eye contact. I take it and gently swat him with it, “Jacob! Stop acting so weird.” What are we, thirteen again?

  He’s still standing there blushing, not looking at me, and it just makes me giggle. It’s like finding someone’s ticklish spot. I can’t help it. “Jacob,” I singsong. I peek around -- there’s no one in hearing distance, but I don’t think he’s realized that. “I’m sorry I was staring at your Penis!” He covers his face with his hands, and I laugh out loud. When I can compose myself, I playfully tap him again. He scissors his fingers open to peep an eye through and I tease, “No one’s around, you dork. Now tell me about this thing.”

  He’s cracked a smile and silently laughing as he lowers his hands from his face. “You know there’ll be retribution, right?”

  “Ah, I’m not worried. You’re a big softie,” I would banter back more, but my eyes have strayed back to the walking stick in my hands. A morning glory vine appears to twist around it. Stars decorate where the vine does not, and there is a giant moon at its culmination, to clasp as part of the handle. “This is really unique. I bet there’s a story to it, huh?”

  He mumbles something and I lean closer to hear, “What did you say?”

  “I carved it.”

  “Shut the front door and hold the phone!” I hold up a hand before he even starts in on my phrase, “You carved this?!” I look at it anew, even more impressed than before.

  “Why the flowers? What are they?”

  “You’re never gonna let this go, are you? It’s a moonflower, but I like to call it moonvine.”

  “What does the --”

  “Enya, we're gonna be late.”

  “Oh, crap!” We were already cutting it close before I got distracted. I pass it back to him and we both take off. He pulls out his phone, to consult the map as we go. Luckily, it's not a far walk. Even so, he jogs and I scramble to catch up. I gather this is an Elder he wants to impress.

  “Don’t worry, Jacob.” I manage to say as we run. “I’ll just explain I was staring at your staff!”

  At the restaurant at the lodge, we easily spot the Elder whom Jacob calls Nathan or Flies with Crows. He sends Jacob a grave yet friendly nod, the combination not unlike a proud father to a son. He has two silver braids and stands upright and strong for someone his age. His skin is weathered and lined, the crags stiff and deep. His entire presence is formidable, his gaze sharp and assessing unless it lights on Jacob.

  Nathan leads the way and Jacob walks beside him, chatting. I am comfortable walking a step behind, just watching and listening and taking it all in. Jacob looks back at me a few times in question and I try my best to non-verbally reassure him to go on a few steps ahead with Nathan.

  I love the sound of birds combined with all the sensations of a brisk morning. There is still dew on the ground, and bright but not yet harsh light sets patterns all around us. I come abreast of them when they halt their progress, standing still and silent. Off in the distance, a doe and her fawn are meandering at the edge of the forest line. The mountains rise abruptly and majestically behind them. I take out my phone, capturing the shot but forgetting to put it on silent. The camera noise startles the deer and the scamper off. I'm about to make my apologies when Nathan says, "Don't worry, Little Clover. We will see many more majestic animals." and resumes his trek forward. I look accusingly to Jacob, who shrugs sheepishly.

  I put my phone on vibrate and stow it away, and we rush to catch up with Nathan.

  "Um, do you prefer I call you by your Indian name?"

  "Whichever you are comfortable with is fine," he replies.

  "Um, okay. And you can call me Enya, too." I try not to sound intimidated by him and fail.

  To this, he smiles, and it's the look of someone who knows more than you do. I'm about to ask more when Jacob interrupts,

  "I'm pretty sure Little Clover is wondering about how you got your name, Flies with Crows." So, I guess that cements my graduation from Cloverleaf to Little Clover. I'm not sure if it's a step back or forward.

  "Our spirit names are very sacred" he intones, and before I gush that he doesn't have to tell me, he says, "First you must understand the story of how the crow got her black feathers". Nathan proceeds to tell the Lenape story as we hike a beautiful meadow.

  "There was a great snow, the first snow that ever fell. All the animals were alarmed as the snow built up, creeping over their legs, over their arms. They argued with each other on who should fly to the Creator. It was an ardu
ous journey to the twelfth heaven where the Creator lived, but finally, Rainbow Crow said he would do it.

  “When he finally reached the Creator, he sang so beautifully the Creator offered him a gift. He could not make the Snow Spirit stop, and he could not take away the cold, so he gave the Rainbow Crow the gift of fire. Rainbow Crow carried the branch with the flame all the way back. By the time he arrived, the branch had burned down to a stub, his beautiful feathers had turned black and his beautiful voice could only caw.

  “The gift of fire became the grandfather to all fire, and all the animals sang and danced their praise to Crow. But Crow could not hear or see them.

  “Overtaken with sorrow, the Crow wept alone up high in a tree. Then the Creator came down from the sky and explained, ‘Man will come soon, taking the fire and dominating all but you. I gift you freedom so that Man will never hurt you, as you will not be good to eat, and Man will not capture you, as your sound is unappealing and your feathers black. But if you look close, your feathers will still reflect all the colors of the rainbow.’”

  The story is an amazing parallel to the plight of Natives.

  "Crow is my spirit animal. She is brave, wise, generous, and clever, but also very perceptive and pushes boundaries. Not all birds ride the thermals, but she does with her predator friends. She is very adaptable and understands sacrifice. And being a leader. All that put together makes her a very special bird, especially for the tribe. This is what I do for my tribe."

  I ponder that for the next mile. I don't spot any new wildlife, although Flies with Crows points things out. To Jacob, he frequently stops, often stooping to touch a plant. "People call this snakeroot," he says. "It will help you sweat when you need to perform a ceremony and have no smokehouse." He hands some dried leaves from his vest pocket, like he expects Jacob to have such an occasion. Later he kneels to the ground, pointing out little delicate white flowers.

  "You will hear this as common yarrow today. Use it for pain and fevers. Harvest it in the morning when it is cool." Jacob nods his head solemnly. When we pass closer to a tree with long leaves and bracts from spent flowers, he points it out saying, "Harvest north-facing bark, and boil until it reaches the color of pine bark to brew a tea to aid in dream walking." Nathan again hands him treasure from his many pocketed vest. Jacob dutifully accepts, caresses the tree trunk as he passes.

  Time plods on with us and the sun gathers strength and warmth. I take off my outer light jacket and tie it around my waist. The majesty around me takes on an even stronger breathtaking quality. The mountains have no foothills, so they rise above the land, just a touch of white to their caps. All the colors are stronger now, the gray burned away. I can notice the few remaining wildflowers. Flies with Crows points out a hawk and this time I do see it. I snap some more shots.

  I want to take all three of us and am just figuring how I can get them to stand for a timed shot, when Flies with Crows offers to take a picture of me and Jacob. I gladly hand over my phone and Jacob and I turn to smile. His arm comes loosely around me and I repeat the gesture. Our heads bend towards each other, mine up a little, his down as we beam smiles at the camera. I beam with approval, the result even better than I could have imagined. I realize I have no pictures of the two of us that aren't a selfie except for this one. I text Jacob a copy (it'll send when reception improves) and thank Flies with Crows.

  Our next picture break comes as we skirt along Jenny Lake. It's a beautiful blue expanse. Pictures done, we have a light snack and drink break before carrying on. Jacob makes good use of his hiking stick as we make our way to the Hidden Falls. A light drizzle begins and I put my jacket back on. Soon we arrive at the magnificent falls. Unfortunately, with the drizzle, it’s hard to take a worthy picture. I stay in the present moment instead, capturing it mentally. Flies with Crows is talking to Jacob about listening to the rocks, animals, trees, and more. It sounds surprisingly like acupuncture.

  On the way back, we all fall in line behind Flies with Crows. We take it slow, and he shows us areas that are more off the beaten path. These spots are no less beautiful for their lack of fanfare. With the arrival of a clear sky and bright sun, we spot moose and pronghorn. On the ground, he points out scat and tracks of coyotes and wolves. With Flies With Crow's added narration, I feel like I am learning about these animals for the first time.

  All too soon the day is ending. Back in front of the restaurant where we met, Jacob passes him the walking stick he carved. Flies with Crows tries to decline the gift, but Jacob says he won't be needing it for much longer. It’s such an odd thing to say.

  “You’ve got time. It’s not the quantity, it's the quality,” Flies with Crows replies, and for a second I’m alarmed that they’ve talked about me, but then I realize he’s talking to Jacob. It doesn’t make sense but maybe I misheard. They’re still talking as Jacob passes him his beautifully carved walking stick. Maybe he was just looking for a way to give it to him? Jacob’s got such a big heart. I figure he must appreciate the old man being our guide and it’s his way of thanking him.

  Back at the RV, I set up a picnic blanket while Jacob rummages around for dinner. It looks like he’s settled for mac n’ cheese. I’m impatient for the water to boil, so I grab some baby carrots and hummus to supplement our meal. Our “table” all set, I haul my stash of board games out and sort through it for today’s entertainment while I munch.

  Jacob comes out and folds himself onto the picnic blanket beside me, placing the steaming pot of mac and cheese in the middle, on a folded towel.

  “Apples to Apples?” I query, holding up the box. He snags the bag of carrots from me and shakes a healthy portion onto his plate.

  “Sure, yeah.” he says, preoccupied with the food.

  I grab my plate and load it up. It’s simple fare, but it’ll do. I place the stacks of cards to the side of the blanket and draw the green card. “‘Wasted’” I announce, placing it between us. I pick two red cards from the pile and place them face-down in the center, making up for our lack of players. Drawing my own cards, I try to figure which one could be a convincing case of “wasted”. Pajama bottoms? Hillary Clinton? Lemonade? Hmm, maybe because it’s sour? Gymnastics? Yeah, that’s wasted on me. I put my card down as Jacob is just picking his.

  “Hey, whaddya think about popcorn?”

  He looks up from his freshly picked cards and raises one eyebrow in a sardonic question.

  “It’s always time for popcorn,” I defend, no longer seeking his input. I’m at the doorway when I turn to ask, “Do you want anything?” only to find him already looking at me, smiling. I gesture at him to hurry up and play his turn, and head in to get the popcorn going.

  There’s a science to making perfect microwave popcorn, and it requires a total disregard of the directions. Or the pre-programmed microwave button. You have to be a connoisseur and know the specific times that correlate to the particular brand, adjusting for the variance in microwaves, of course. I’ve gotten acquainted with this micro, and know 3:45 is the sweet spot. It requires a brave soul to overshoot the time, and be available to stop it when perfection hits.

  I plug in the numbers and wait. Unsuccessfully. I pour some party mix into a bowl, in case he doesn’t want popcorn but has warmed to the idea of snacks during gametime, even if it's dinner time too.

  He’s got to be done now, right?

  I pop out real quick just to cajole him if he still hasn’t played his turn. Oh, good, he’s eating so he must have played.

  I head back to the kitchen and omigod there is a squirrel on the table! He’s sitting on his hind legs eating the party mix, looking at me like I’m the intruder. Hello? The squirrels in Wyoming are a lot more brazen than those back in Maryland. Usually squirrels are gray balls of fluff, but this one is more beady eyed foe than frisky friend. I want to scare it away, but there’s only one door and it's behind me. So I slowly back away.

  “Psst! Jacob!” I whisper-hiss. I take a few more steps away and then sprint, “JACOB!”

&n
bsp; He grabs the cooking pot as he leaps to me, but I don’t pay him much heed, keeping my eyes on the door as I say, “There’s a squirrel eating your trail mix!”

  I hear him coughing and look back. I’d laugh at his confused and pained expression — holding a pot nonetheless — but, “There’s a squirrel eating your trail mix!”

  Something must have gotten through, because he bounds into the RV. I shadow him, then decide better of it, and go outside. I don’t hear or see anything, so I go over to the other side. It doesn’t register that he’s already opened a window here and is trying to flush the squirrel out until it comes sailing out the window by my head.

  “AAHHhhhh!” I flail and bash my arm on the extended window. The squirrel is fast, and long gone, while I curse over my smarting elbow.

  Jacob comes around with a “What now?” kind of look. He’s still holding the pot of mac n’ cheese, braced for action. My elbow hurts, but I can’t help but laugh. He relaxes and I lean against our RV and laugh more, slowly sliding down. He sits down beside me, joining in the laughter.

  “I think it gave me the finger as it left,” he says as I swipe at my tears of laughter.

  “I’m pretty sure I narrowly escaped depilation by way of squirrel,” I remark.

  “Depi- what?”

  “Hair removal. What’s with the pot?”

  “When you screamed, I thought you’d seen a bear.”

  “So you were going to get close enough to clobber it with a pot?”

  “It was better than the carrot in my other hand. I think I lost some lung, by the way.” He pounds his chest with his fist, coughing.

  I turn to face him, still laughing but a little concerned, “Huh?”

  “I was mid-chew when you decided to imitate a fire alarm. I inhaled some carrot. I don’t recommend it.”

  I laugh some more at our escapade, picturing him eating —

  “The popcorn!”

  I rush back inside and he follows me. The smell of burnt popcorn hits me before I open the microwave. I toss it, then spy the bowl with scattered party mix. I toss that, too.