(I have, upon occasion, been strung out on some fox, but seeing a fox strung out over a rabbit ? (I was born in the Year of the Rabbit–what does that tell you–but let’s not split hares here) Liberati! oops–LITERATI (Freudian slip. I must be thinking of liberty–the libeerties I take with the language and …
(I have, upon occasion, been strung out on some fox, but seeing a fox strung out over a rabbit ? (I was born in the Year of the Rabbit–what does that tell you–but let’s not split hares here)
Liberati! oops–LITERATI (Freudian slip. I must be thinking of liberty–the libeerties I take with the language and –OH! I’ve slipped again! Oh well. LIBEERTIES works for me. A new word! Libation meets Beer!
Sorry, I got distracted. Michael Dilts is a finalist in our Wingnuts contest, required simply to tell a love story and somewhere use the phrase “…if only I had wings…”
He is certainly not sheepish about telling his us about
Meeting Viviana: Tail of the Wolf
By Michael R. Dilts
Come, sit here in the sun. It’s warm today, a nice day to sit and listen to the water bubble in the spring. Sit, I won’t bite. But no, stand then. Just come a little closer so I can see your face. I know I must be a fearsome sight with my tangled beard and the branches in my hair. It’s camouflage, don’t you see? They hunt me, you know, with their dogs and horses. If only I had wings I would fly over their heads and mock them like the raven in that beech tree shrieking his filthy insults down at us. But here I sit, and it is you who have finally caught me!
Yes, I know who sent you and why. And you! Look at you! You were just a tiny bundle the last time I saw you. All eyes. And a mouth – yes, you had quite a mouth, as I recall, announcing your own arrival in this world. Yes, yes, I remember. I have forgotten many things, but that I remember. I had a dream the night before you were born. Have they told you about my dream? They’ve probably told you what a crazy old man I am with all of my nattering about dreams and omens and portents. But, you see, my dreams are always true – what I dream is a quick glance into the blinding face of Knowledge.
You laugh because yes, I am indeed a crazy old man. But can you say that your dreams are always true? Some true? Well that’s a fine thing, then. And what did they christen you? My dream I remember, but not the name they chose for you. Ah! Viviana, of course. A lively name!
The dream? It was a clear one. Very clear. Lucid. Filled with light. There was a nest of eagle chicks. High in an oak tree. An old tree, ravaged by wind and storm. But it was a fine bright day, and one of the little chicks crawled to the edge of the nest and tumbled in a fluffy ball to the forest floor. She pushed along with her half-naked wings and pulled herself through the weeds with her beak… How did I know it was a she? I knew. There was never a doubt, but I can’t say how I knew. She was a stubborn little thing, and after a long journey she made her way into a little glen much like this one and flopped and fluttered into a wolf’s den.
Yes, there was a wolf there, an old grey one, and he squinted at her with his bleary eyes and licked her clean of all the dust and dirt that had collected on her downy feathers. And then he cradled her in his paws and kept her warm. Yes, it was a most interesting dream. And the next day you were born, Viviana.
What’s that? Well, I told you, my dreams are always true. You never saw a wolf nursing an eagle chick? Oh, my sweet little maid. How is it that you are so sure? A wolf may not always walk on four legs and sport a tail, you know. And the chick? I believe I have met the chick, and not so very long ago. My dreams are always true, if you know how to understand them. And there have been so many times that I didn’t want their truth. But I don’t try anymore to escape the wisdom they enfold. I used to, you know, like a wolf running from its own tail. You can flee and flee, but Fate is always there following you, just over your shoulder.
Now, now, now. That is a question unworthy of you, my lady. Especially unworthy of one who is so wise for her years. Of course I dreamed last night. But the fox doesn’t share his secrets with the hare, nor the hare with the fox. As to which of us is the fox and which the hare, I will only say this much. If I had not wished you to find me, do you think that I would be sitting here on this fine afternoon listening to the water rush out of its hiding place deep in the earth?
Where the hare is allowed to run, the dogs soon follow. So it is time for us to go our separate ways. High time, I would say. Good day, my lady, until we meet again. Until then.
So….we have foxes, hares, hounds, eagles and wolves in this tail–oops! TALE. To read more about wolves, I highly recommend reading this bio of Jack London which I completed recently. (reading it, not writing it, alas)