Post by goldenmyst on Jul 7, 2019 17:42:32 GMT -6
Fly Me Home, My Love
One summer we go sea kayaking off Anglesey to feel at home again. We are accompanied by a pod of Orcas on our journey. Then a mighty wind blows us out to sea until our boats spin in the water with us frantically trying to regain control with our oars. A waterspout forms and pulls us heavenward until we are dropped onto an island in the sky. There we are greeted by eight-foot-tall people each with the muscular strength of five athletes. So muscle-bound females carry my wife and me to a castle made of teak wood. Once we are safely inside we are granted an audience with the queen. She addresses me about how my wife bears a striking resemblance to her vanished daughter. And so she says, “Your wife will be named after my daughter ‘Gwendolyn.’ Our insects are a throwback to three hundred million years ago where every creature was big like everything in Texas. But they even outdo those winged wonders of pre-dinosaur time. So she rode one of our giant dragonflies over the western sea never to be seen again.”
I say, “Well thank you for your hospitality but we would just as soon be on our way home.”
“But you just arrived and you want to leave so soon? I insist you take off your shoes and make yourself at home. Our place will come to feel like home. Your wife will breathe the spores of the Arcadian moss found only at the grotto with the sacred spring which is guarded by my knights. This will make her as strong as my dear girl was. You, on the other hand, will be a happy serf among us. But fear, not your lovely wife will be by your side to protect you in the event of ill will by one of our citizens or from any other native land.”
“But your majesty, my role as protector of my wife will be diminished. Where we come from the man is the defender of the woman.”
The queen replies, “Get thee unto the woods to gather berries for your wife. Such a task is honorable and will give you great rewards.”
A year passes by as my daily routine is to gather roots and nuts in the forest while my wife takes on a brawn which rivals the Amazon warriors of old and exceeds mine.
Gwendolyn says, “The dragonflies are friendly. Look at the wingspan of the one here. They are as wide as a ship’s sails. And they are trained to take on riders. This one is smitten with me. He will bear us to a farther shore where you can be treated with the respect that me who is your wife demands for you.”
“This is one time I am happy to be led by you. Let’s get the heck out of here. I’ve had enough of being an underling. Serf, Smurf.”
“I have been told by the natives here that once I am removed from the spores for a season my feminine physique which pleases us so much will be restored. I don’t like looking as though I’ve been shooting up on steroids and pumping iron any more than you do. You know our children should be with their parents. We’ll fly us down through the sky until we land on the soil of Merry Old England.”
“Yes, the kingdom where serfs are history and the queen doesn’t meddle in the affairs of her commoners.”
And so together we mount our winged insect to elope upon the night wind. We descend the cloud-mountains until we navigate by starlight under the zodiac wheel. High above the world, we kiss on the fly to home.
We cross into the daylight where we watch the ocean an evanescent cerulean blue stretching out to the curved horizon. Our dragonfly swoops downward on its final approach to Wales where our adventure began.
One summer we go sea kayaking off Anglesey to feel at home again. We are accompanied by a pod of Orcas on our journey. Then a mighty wind blows us out to sea until our boats spin in the water with us frantically trying to regain control with our oars. A waterspout forms and pulls us heavenward until we are dropped onto an island in the sky. There we are greeted by eight-foot-tall people each with the muscular strength of five athletes. So muscle-bound females carry my wife and me to a castle made of teak wood. Once we are safely inside we are granted an audience with the queen. She addresses me about how my wife bears a striking resemblance to her vanished daughter. And so she says, “Your wife will be named after my daughter ‘Gwendolyn.’ Our insects are a throwback to three hundred million years ago where every creature was big like everything in Texas. But they even outdo those winged wonders of pre-dinosaur time. So she rode one of our giant dragonflies over the western sea never to be seen again.”
I say, “Well thank you for your hospitality but we would just as soon be on our way home.”
“But you just arrived and you want to leave so soon? I insist you take off your shoes and make yourself at home. Our place will come to feel like home. Your wife will breathe the spores of the Arcadian moss found only at the grotto with the sacred spring which is guarded by my knights. This will make her as strong as my dear girl was. You, on the other hand, will be a happy serf among us. But fear, not your lovely wife will be by your side to protect you in the event of ill will by one of our citizens or from any other native land.”
“But your majesty, my role as protector of my wife will be diminished. Where we come from the man is the defender of the woman.”
The queen replies, “Get thee unto the woods to gather berries for your wife. Such a task is honorable and will give you great rewards.”
A year passes by as my daily routine is to gather roots and nuts in the forest while my wife takes on a brawn which rivals the Amazon warriors of old and exceeds mine.
Gwendolyn says, “The dragonflies are friendly. Look at the wingspan of the one here. They are as wide as a ship’s sails. And they are trained to take on riders. This one is smitten with me. He will bear us to a farther shore where you can be treated with the respect that me who is your wife demands for you.”
“This is one time I am happy to be led by you. Let’s get the heck out of here. I’ve had enough of being an underling. Serf, Smurf.”
“I have been told by the natives here that once I am removed from the spores for a season my feminine physique which pleases us so much will be restored. I don’t like looking as though I’ve been shooting up on steroids and pumping iron any more than you do. You know our children should be with their parents. We’ll fly us down through the sky until we land on the soil of Merry Old England.”
“Yes, the kingdom where serfs are history and the queen doesn’t meddle in the affairs of her commoners.”
And so together we mount our winged insect to elope upon the night wind. We descend the cloud-mountains until we navigate by starlight under the zodiac wheel. High above the world, we kiss on the fly to home.
We cross into the daylight where we watch the ocean an evanescent cerulean blue stretching out to the curved horizon. Our dragonfly swoops downward on its final approach to Wales where our adventure began.
