ODYSSEY TALES

Sunday, May 8, 2012 Sitting in the truck, after waking to a glorious day; blue skies filled with dozens of hot air balloons, sharing a proffered cup of coffee, appreciating a long hot shower, my sole companion acapella Sunday singing. Breakfast cook group smoothly rolls into action; latecomers volunteer to clean-up. Brilliant sun and I decide it's a great day to do laundry and read. Nassir, the owner, shows me how to operate the devil's device they call a washing machine in Europe...now the Asian version of an evil spirit..almost 90 minutes of tortured clothing. Moving my chair, imitating girasolles at home, every view from the terrace, issues squeals of delight. Different grouping drift into town or to roam the hills, a cucumber and tomato sandwich satiates hunger; I second read and slowly masticate, swallow each vowel. My brain swells with pleasure; books a not so secret erotica. The Group: Baby girl with an innocent beauty; the Victorians would have demanded early tubercular death. Alpha gathering followers but tired of wearing the mantle. Soft whisperer frightened by a deep well. Thirst is a very private matter. A lost Sacajewa blustering; a path paved with strained laughter and a keen discerning eye. Jovial service while managing to withhold critical elements: connection and concern. The mirror only reflects one face. Keenly holding on to love while praying the scales will balance. A rare earth spirit facing a chasm of change: wise enough to know it's impossible to protect those we love, only to continue to love them in any form. Comprehending the earth is moving, shifting changing, beneath his feet. After a life of control, staring complacently, and then with terror at the shadowed holes of the future. Enigma, a shell of humor, life as a shadow. Coming in out of the cold, finding great warmth in the setting sun. Sure of love; her laugh fills him and presents her great satisfaction. Swift told many tales, advantageous size gets hammered down; the journey ahead is hidden; not anticipated. The milk-maid, county beauty, sensing there's more than cows and brawny boys. Inoculated since birth on her lesser worth and evils of Metropolis: stuck between longing and loss. Administrative cog with enough wobble; realization of safety and security. Stays in the square, peeking over the hedges, wondering why strange people are laughing. I'm wondering whether this maze has the right hand on the wall. Beauty in a man is dangerous. It leads to women living on your smiles and men turning their backs to you. A taut suspension. Ahhhhhh...if perception and wit was a bank, a billionaire in our midst. A true Beauty masquerading as The Beast. Hippie, privileged and dreaming of future conquests: land, sea and lair. Flirtatious solely in existence; twirling her bag at borders. Capable and direct. A burr and a thistle; prickly sensible life plans. Will the thorny Plantagenet rose pierce the sheep, exposing soft skin underneath? Time won't treat him kindly. Peter Pan eventually becomes a Darling. So I bid you good night and wishing for sweet dreams tonight and good fortune in the morning.