There was once a blacksmith
As talented as he was bitter
He had a wife fair and beautiful in her old age
He loved her much
He had a single daughter
Her age beginning to pass its flowering
She was as beautiful and brittle as a porcelain doll
The two of them would spend the morning and evening
looking on the red of the sun
Though her joints were brittle
She would turn paper into beautiful origami
The black smith loved her very much
But
The blacksmith had no sons
One day, with the sun beating down, and the blacksmiths bitter heart full of liqueur
He cursed his daughter, for her brittleness
And he turned
And cursed her mother for bearing him no sons
He cursed them till his red cheeks could hold no air
Then, in anger and shame, he ran into the forest
He stumbled and tripped
The liqueur jarring his senses
He tottled, then tilted, his feet stumbling like the cords of a lute
The bitter blacksmith stumbled past our own world
Passing to the world of the spirits
He stumbled through the forest, emptying the last of his gourd
As the sun began to fall in the sky and red began to overtake the world
The blacksmith thought of home
And evenings with his daughter
His face red with shame
As thoughts of home began to emerge
he prepared to turn back
He saw a lone cottage
Appearing as if from the rays of dusk
And being lured by the fox within, the black smith walked up its steps
faced the door
and as his knuckles rapped
The door opened
Inside a young man, with white hair sat
A table in front of him
A scale to his right
The blacksmith knew he was not in his world
The young man with white hair, wore the carved mask of a white fox
The black smith sits down
The red of his face clearing
The young man spoke fondly of the blacksmith, praising his work
And admiring the strength of his arms
As the blacksmith began to feel at ease the white fox beckons to the scales
“Let us make a pact,” the fox says, ” I will bless your wife, and you will have many children.”
the fox adds a weight to the scale
“They will be strong men, caring for you in your old age, they will be the boon of your waning years,” the scale taps against the table.
The black smith crosses his arms, “And the price,” the blacksmith asked
The fox took a single weight and placed it on the opposite scale
“Your daughter is both beautiful and fair and,” the fox adds more weights to the opposite scale, “She makes the most beautiful origami, I would have her as my bride,”
The blacksmith pulled in a sigh, his daughter was nearly past the age of her flowering her joints were brittle, unable to care for herself let alone her mother or father
Her one grace her origami
A good pact the black smith thought
“My daughter is fair and skilled in origami,” the black smith said moving each piece from the opposite scale his fingers holding the last weight
“And, I spend each evening with her watching the sun go down, I have much riches for my old age, and I love her very much,” he says pressing down the single weight till it reached the table
With a clap of the foxes hands the blacksmith returned to the human world
Remorse filling his heart the blacksmith went home
Begged of his wife
And his daughter
Forgiveness
Knowing her father well his daughter only laughed, seeming as if his curses had never struck her ears.
“You where only drunk dear father.”
His wife was the lesser to forgive but in time their wounds healed.
In the country there is said to be a blacksmith
Happy and glad of heart
He spends each evening and morning on the porch of his house
Sipping a cup of liqueur as his daughter folds origami as beautiful as she is frail
Mad Man's House 