by cheri block
Move-In day for Joan arrived as scheduled.
My, how time has moved along itself, I thought, still in the sack, trying to recharge my battery for the big day ahead. Why, just a little while ago, a Global Van Lines truck had parked in front of our house on Mayfield Drive and I was fourteen; why, just a little while ago, when Dad and Mom lost their money and their dream house, and I was a young married girl, we had moved the family piano in the back of a Ford Ranchero. I sat on the bench and played Rogers and Hammerstein as the young Judge Blah drove the truck to Mom and Dad’s new but small patio home.
What would Eckhart Tolle say this morning about my syrupy nostalgia? I chastised myself for wallowing in the past instead of “seizing the opportunities of today,” and rolled out of bed, into my Ugg slippers, and down to the coffee pot.
Over at the burial mound, Alonzo, too, was deep in thought.
He sensed, as dragons tend to do, that someone very special was about to inhabit the mound, someone who, despite having fourteen health problems—five of them serious—maintained a sunny optimism comparable only to the orange and blue roses that grew outside the mound’s entrance.
A large tear (which quickly evaporated) spilled from his yellow eye in a moment of deep understanding. He wished this enlightened feeling to stay with him all day.
As if by magic or synchronicity or religious belief or co-incidence, a purple and iridescent green dragon fly appeared in silvery wing-beat.
Good Morning, Captain!!!! whistled the dragonfly in a pitch that was fingers to chalkboard.
Oh, Edmund, my friend, my confidant, my little burst of violet enlightenment (with a hint of green), I am so pleased to see (but not to hear) you this morning, said (and thought) the dragon, stretching his tail out and flaring his nostrils.
Up and Eve, Alonzo! buzzed Edmund.
The Queen is moving in today.