Midas

Let heaven part so you can witness the colors of the sky

Story telling was something that grew with age, like the primary feathers of newborn Pegasus. I ended my brief summary, (one could hardly call my rambling a story) with a soft sigh and a proud grin that was altogether pleasantly relaxed. She didn’t seem to think my telling’s were silly, nor was my manner of speaking—though I spoke in the high tongue as mother had often called it. Talking without slang, instead, my lips dripped with honey—gilded and smooth. Perhaps one day I would really be able to weave a tale. “Wow…” she finally said after sharing a gaze with my bonded child. I followed those eyes until they came to rest on red plumage and smiled gently before turning back. “Your story was more wonderful than I imagined. I can only hope my destiny holds such a bond as your Midas—but what will be, will be I suppose.”

A humorous chuckle whelps from the hot pits of my chest, it wasn’t that I found her expression funny; I simply agreed. The sound passes my lips richly but with kindness and not jest, “There will be rain if our lord wills it so.” I added with another misty chortle. It didn’t seem possible that this sweet child wouldn’t find whatever her heart desired; indeed she seemed to have all the qualities that would make a good strong bond. Kindness, a pure heart, a brave heart.

“Who knows what the future holds!” Indeed, I thought. Who really knew?

Fina peered at us for a moment longer, finding our conversation less and less interesting now that the subject had been turned away from her being the center of attention. She spread her wings and took flight, just as the last drip drops of rain fell from a sky that still seemed rather darkly full of it. The air crackled and hissed as the fire on her wings evaporated the moisture instantly, she didn’t seem bothered by this—and I received a lovely image of a mutilated snake that would explain her motives of entering the drizzle. Fina was going to hunt.

I watch my other half fly away, and that is when I feel a hot breath at my shoulder. The velvet whiskers of her muzzle tickle my flesh, warming the spots that had cooled only moments ago—my lips retain their gentle expression and turn to her just as she pulls away, “Perhaps the cloud’s have no more tears.” Glancing up at the dissipating clouds with one cocked eye, but still regarding her as fully as I might, I add with a bit of guarded reserve, “They weep for a swiftly coming winter.” For the first time in a long time, I was feeling…very happy about simply being beneath this tree, and sharing airspace with a clan sister. “Thank you Africa…for humoring my presence,” I half smile and the tips that are turned up seemed to be more apologetic than anything, “It gets lonely; being busy all the time…”