She had the dream again
The last day of normal
When the ordinary man
Finished his boat
Her skin was the color of the sky before rain
Before rain came down
She had been a towering
A river of life with eyes clear resilient
This was the nightmare she could not untangle–flash flood had been a meaningless
Term in an endless
Skein of days
The color of her skin, her eyes
As tall as she was beautiful
They had all believed they were
The man/little man
Holed up in his boat
While the fearless laughed
This world will never fall
But the sky might
And by the time they knew
The world was already
The child began to cry.
Until he cried the dragon and her friend were beginning to think, how hard can this be?
After, they knew. They both tried feeding him. Then they consulted the notable tome by Dame Doxia and in swift succession they tried wrapping and unwrapping, gentle rocking, baths, what have you. To no avail. The tiny bundle of joy was inconsolable.
In a desperate, last option turn, the dragoness flew. She got goat to cinch the baby’s sling close to her chest and she flew.
What was it? Fear of a bigger thing? Joy? The baby stopped crying and soared high above the earth with his dragon mama.
And when that happened it changed everything.
Everyone has dragons in their history. We are ubiquitous in the minds of men. Every culture has a dragon mythology. Even cultures which would be far too cold to support reptiles of our size and climate needs have memories of dragons.
Only in modern times have things become ridiculously obscured (when they were simple to untangle if you could live a thousand years).
Dinosaur is just another name for dragon. Let us face it–it is an epithet. We, ancient race of monarchs, reduced to brute beasts? Mindless and dull…
Leave it to humans to think they can figure things out to a point of control only to find they have lost the heart of the story. And without the heart, the rest becomes a silly fiction.