There is a funny tree outside the door of our host’s home that sheds bark in neat wiggly shapes. Matt and I took some choice specimens to a park in San Diego today and gave them personalities. They told us their story:
She heard the Music coming from the sky, from the whole population of wizards, mystics, cooks who erupted in dance in every waking minute, in every traveling beat. The beautiful alien girl with her toes pointed down at the earth. She heard!
To ready herself for travel, she ordered the construction of a silk pink blouse made from the native vines of her Venusian homeland. To help her navigate, she introduced the cartographer and seamstress of her province and had them make a taffeta skirt embroidered with a full-color map, complete with topographical representations. Once she was well-supplied, the alien girl walked to a steep precipice at the farthest end of her planet. She calmed her nerves by breathing in the chill sublunar air and executed a ballerina’s version of a swan dive, hurtling toes-first into the liquid fire ozone.
After pinching out the first and only ember left in her skirt, the girl was greeted by a snow-white jaybird wearing a red backpack. Now, because the girl had never before seen a bird, she would not have known to note that the odd jay was flying on his back with his neck corkscrewed to hold his head aloft.
“May I escort you to the Bayou Cathedral, my dear?,” asked the Jay. The girl had no notion of what a bayou could be. She didn’t even know that bayou is concrete noun that describes a southern region of the United States. Nonetheless, she was intrigued and agreed to go along, proffering her skink-like forepaw.
Only moments after flying side-by-side over scattered trees decorated in Spanish moss, the girl and Jay were bum-rushed by a fish who had strapped himself to a home rigged jetpack. The determined scaly bullet was pursuing a chance at flight. He hadn’t realized that it was essentially, swimming. Just then, he he collided with an iron skillet raised by wing of Bayou Cathedral’s own Fiona Clük, who was in the midst of preparing the evening’s meal.
Upon seeing the pair of motley winged creatures that had just arrived, seemingly, from outer space, she exclaimed, “By corn! What’s got a’holt o’you two?”
Jay said, “I’m not so different,” while comparing his piecemeal backpack to the lacy finery of Mama Clük, her Victorian plume, her hose absent of runs and tears.
The alien girl leaned her tall conical ears to the back of her head and, smiling knowingly, opened her throat and let out a bright courageous note which pierced through Mama Clüks segregation and deflated it. Within minutes, every animal alive that day in the bayou became juggernauts launched at the one-note song of the alien girl. They shook dried gourds and slung rocks at trees to keep the beat. They added what had been missing in the vacuum of space – they gave their souls. Jay said to the alien girl as she closed her grass-colored eyes and took another breath, “I thought you might like it here.”