Julie-Anne Randle

Mother Tincture God Julie-Anne Randle

Each time I see it I wish I could explain it, but I can't. There is a moment just before I look when I think "is this the time when it won't happen?" And every time I see it, my heart understands, yet my eyes don't."Hey, Jack. Take a look. The crystals are aligned." Jack lifted his head, pushed his chair back and his long strides paced the laboratory floor to the microscope where Matthew had been hunched. Jack was accustomed to his enthusiasm. Not at any time would it become routine and boring. The eagerness to strive in the unknown world of molecular physics was unlimited."Lithium, adrenalin, borax." The list went on. "God." Matt looked up quizzically to Jack. "They can't just label a bottle God." He dreamt a bright light fell silently from the sky and dipped into the ocean, extinguishing the light. It was the first of many unusual dreams. The inner world of microscopic photography versus the outer anxiety of real life and love is exploded when a bottle named God arrives in a stock tincture batch for a PhD research paper.