Seasoning

Seasoning, A Blend Offered by Dean Vandeusen
 

They had been free spirits in the late 60s and early 70s,


meeting at Caffe Lena in Saratoga Springs after a Three Dog night concert,


they had recognized in each other the lost part of their own soul.


 


That night they drove out Highway 29 to Lake Desolation Road and headed uphill.


On the moonlight shore of the lake, the cooling air misting with tomorrow’s fog,


they pledged to each other and jumped over the broom that they found in the back of their old pick up truck.


 


He had come East out of Gary Indiana.


Looking for new opportunities to profit on the future misery of others,


he came to the state that had born Woodstock and gave a new definition to being mellow.


 


As had the old peddlers walked the paths of the Cumberland, Appalachians, Adirondacks, and Catskills,


so did he, with his almost magical wares, which he would first offer for free,


that which nature abounded, just a weed found along fence lines and in fields.


His product of choice however, as DuPont might say, was better living through chemistry.


 


He had been introduced to the couple at a party.


It was not clear to him that they were the Yin and the Yang of each other.


They had renamed them selves Rosemary and Thyme, forsaking the names given them by their parents.


Had they requested a marriage license based on their birth records,


the eyes of the clerk would have to very nearsighted with glasses missing)


the State of New York would have recognized the legality of it.


 


Not knowing, he hungered, his eyes tracked both of them, his ego felt no caution or concern.


These two beauties would serve him, together or apart.No other thought entered his mind.


As he plied his trade he made inquires, his customers, most now dependent on him,


had long ago lost that natural caution that comes with a clear mind.


An address, at a shared co-op farm was mumbled to a hinted inquiry. A visit would be made.


 


He came in the waning light two days later. Members of the co-op were of differing opinions as to his brotherhood.


His wares were welcomed, caution long ago lost like the treadles of fog that would drift in the dawn of the Finger Lakes.


As the extended family relaxed into oblivion he sought out the two beauties.


They too had fallen under the fog of nature’s pain reliever,


and indeed the pain of the wounds of verbal slings and arrows over the many years,


from those whom had withdrawn their love was forgotten.


Their new false friend waited, and soon chose to first take, the one known as Thyme.


 


In the dream state that Rosemary and Thyme now moved, the movement of their predator went unnoticed.


As a seasoning, Thyme is a gentle accent, touching and teasing the taste buds of the tongue.


As they kissed he started to undress her. Her breasts were small but full, her waist narrow.


The soft warmth of her on his skin drove him further. She started to fight him as her eyes became more aware.


As she tried to pull away, she called in desperation to Rosemary.


 


She, aroused, tried to enter the room only to fail, the door locked.


She in turn called for help and roused a score of brethren.


They all could now hear the screams, and the sounds of impact. The walls were shaking.


The Sheriff’s office was called and response was quick.


 


In front of the judge he stood with legal representation, the question presented.


To the matter of killing thyme, how do you plead?


 


As a rush of darkness pushed away the light of reason, Rosemary turned to spirits best not mentioned,


of multicultural origins, they both soothed and enraged her.


Braced by the pain of her lover lost, and with the spirits help, she vowed a quick revenge.


In an effort to gain strength she found iron to which she added powder, bronze, lead and steel


creating a deadly mix of heavy metals.


To the sentencing hearing, she carried this poison.


 


In the aftermath, with her adversary bleeding on the courtroom floor, they asked why,


to which she simply replied, Thyme is relative.


 


Released and free to go, numbers from an astrolabe would lead Rosemary's soul.


Traveling west, to Lake Butte Des Morts, at 44deg 02' 50.68" North by 88deg 34' 50.55" West,


she would find her goal. Her lover, Thyme is up in heaven, and now Rosemary will ascend.


Their two souls now joined on the great mandala, their life begins again.

 

Location, Location, Location...

Some Landmarks are around for years, some of these are/were real places. For example, Lake Desolation, just up Lake Desolation Road from Highway 29, West of Saratoga New York, can be seen in this webcam at Tinneys Tavern (http://tinneystavern.com/webcam.html).

The Cafe Lena is hard to find a good picture of, their web site is http://www.caffelena.org/

I did find Caffe Lena in Saratoga Springs Open Mic Night on Youtube, uploaded by mtsage1.

As for Lake Butte Des Morts, The name "Butte des Morts" was given by French settlers, and means "Hill of the Dead", in reference to a nearby Indian burial mound. The Lake is mentioned here is West of Oshkosh, Wisconsin and the coordinates are the middle of the Highway 41 bridge across the South end. As I was looking for material on the lake I also found Little Lake Butte Des Morts which is just South of Appleton, Wisconsin and has a just horrible story associated with it.

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