And so.

I managed to arrive late at work today. Ten minutes. I ought to be put against the wall; I'm dispiseful. I don't know if that is spelled correctly or not.

In order to picture just how guilty I really feel, please note that I'm writing in my blog instead of working. Who cares? A girl has a limit for talking about propeller shafts and hubs and nuts and screws and wheels and tires and circlips, ferChris'sake. Right now I've got the office all to myself because Anne has gone on her merry way, and good riddance.

So.

So I'll tell about the dragons.

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Dragons live in my island. It has been the place they come to sleep in for ages. Sometimes I climb the cliffs at the west just to see their arrival. It's hard work, but worthwile; once you get to the very top you'll find yourself at the top of one of two peaks that form a clevis over the ocean. You'll feel the wind blowing your hair and your mind back towards the land and away from the sea, and the only thing in front of you will be the sun, a great big red and golden sun that looks close enough to reach out and touch it. Maybe you'll try to, anyway. It'll sail his course towards the horizon without any rush, very, very slowly, and although the light will hurt your eyes you won't be able to tear your eyes from him, 'cause you know what comes next. And even if you don't, you know something grand is waiting to happen.

Then, just as the sun's lower rim touches the water, you'll notice these tiny specks just above the line of the horizon. Even if you haven't ever looked at them before, it will never cross your mind they mind be choppers or planes, because in this place there are no such things. You'll know what they are. They'll seem to come very slowly but they are actually moving very fast, sailing the air towards the place where you stand and hold your breath in wonder. As they come closer, you'll see they are many moving forms, impossibly big and majestic, about twelve adult dragons, golden red in color and flying so as to form a triangle. You won't believe what you're seeing.

They'll come closer, and closer, and closer, and finally the first one, a great old male who must be at least 2,000 years old, will pass between your peaks just as the upper rim of the sun disappears from the sealine, and he will say farewell to the day with a great gust of fire. Don't worry, you won't be scorched; he fires just after he passes the point where you stand, but anyway the heat will be such you will brace yourself against the cold stone and feel how all the little hairs in your body stand up and vibrate as if responding to his cry. Tears might come to your eyes. What you're seeing is not meant for human eyes; it's something as old as the universe and of such a beauty and strangeness you feel you might not be able to stand it. You have been privileged with something no human has ever seen. Maybe if they had, humans would not be such monsters. They would always have the memory of the sight of the dragons to come back to and realize their own inadequacy, ugliness and littleness. Maybe. You certainly feel inadequate, ugly and small.

As you realize this, the rest of the dragons fly between the peaks at the shore of the island to the valley beyond them. There they land with strange delicacy, and after some sort of communication they curl up to sleep. They curl in such way that, if you happen to look at them after they've settled and you don't know they're there, you might think they're only big red rocks spread all over the green valley.

Did you see them?

Tell me, did you?