Materializing out of the Tule fog, there was a great glowing object.
It roared, it growled, it hissed and belched.
What manner of beast?
What was this apparition that appeared with great glowing eyes fire white hot, flanked by shimmering rubies and amethyst?

It followed a path of such width and breadth as to astound the most worldly. All the while its multicolored glow bled into the mist that swirled about it's pressing foreward movement .
Then came the sound of metal upon metal of clanking and banging of such ferocity as to wake those long past.
Within the realm of the senses, could this being, so mechanical and soulless truly exist? What was this demon who put terror into action? Standing ready with lance, shield, and sword, paused in cold sweat and shaking with anticipation of the battle this Knight would do was Guy. As the beast past, it's many evil black legs spinning with unholy speed, it roared and churned.
An odd bold script was printed on the beast's jaw; something undecipherable; "Dave Knight Trucking".
In relief mixed with disappointment, Sir Guy watched the beast as it disappeared in the ruby and amethyst tainted fog.

Waking up I looked at the closet door. It was open. A box filled with a collection of childhood toy metal cars had tumbled to the floor. I laughed at a dream.

In the distance,
in neither time nor space,
King Arthur and the Great Dragon sat opposite each other, wearing comfy slippers and continued their card game called Hearts. The dragon would, from time to time, freshen the fire with a gentle snort, much to the unending mirth of these two unlikely companions.

Like the old game of childhood. We pound our open palm with our clenched fist three times. We open to declare our choice. Who wins? Paper covers Rock, Rock crushes? But the winner in this mock war are words.
What makes a certain arrangement of words so cutting?
What makes us use words to cut others?
Who benefits from using denigrating, patronizing and dismissive words?
Who do we do this to? Enemies? or maybe friends, employees, our kids,
the afflicted, other religons, other races?
How do we stop our selves from thinking or using these words?
Where do we begin to learn?
How quiet must a mind be to hear itself?

In the headlights a Pigmy Owl had a Vole by the scruff of the neck. The Vole was at least half as big as the Owl. The Vole struggled to break free of the Owl's single clawed grasp. So strong was the Vole's resolve that the Owl beat it's wings to keep from being dragged across the dirt road. The Vole tugged, shook and jumped. The Owl, appearing more the victim than the Vole, flapped, and spun. The dance lasted for an eternity of seconds. Finally the pair were seperated by either mutal exhaustion or simple fate. The Vole trundled off, the Owl looked into the headlights for heartbeat and then gently flew off.
What a struggle there had been. Such a focused moment of survival. Owl wanted food to live and the Vole wanted life.
How are we different?
Who is food for us?
Who are we food for?
Must it always be a struggle?

What is slow and what is fast?
Who makes the judgement?
How did we arrive at a common frame of Reference?
Waiting to see the Dentist time is slow.
Having fun with friends time is fast
Listening to a relative explain a story they have told many times before can be fast or slow..if it is real funny it is fast....if it is dull it is very slow,.
Watching ice melt is dull. Watching water freeze, much the same.
What if there was a way in which we could make watching ice melt be fast?
What if there is a way to make it fun? What then?
Imagine telling a friend, excitedly, you are going home to watch ice melt. Or perhaps watch television.
Which one is a waste of our lives?
Ice never tells you how to feel,
Ice never tells you what to think.

In a fever dream a spider barked.
Hydraulic legs propell it across the landscape of the couch.
Did it bark or was it imagination?
Maybe hightened senses from the fever; who knows.
It may be that we miss so much in churning senses of life that,
we miss oft ignored sounds of our world.
Barking spider is terror to a carpet mite.
It is a wonder to us.