I feel like I should apologize. I feel very out of things, blog-wise, at least compared with what I used to be. Both my reading and writing dropped off before the summer when I moved and haven’t really recovered. Part of it is that I’m much busier at work, so everything has to be done when I get home, including all the other details of life. Part of it is that I’m working (hard) on larger projects that I can’t post here. In any case, I am very appreciative to you for reading. Thank you.
This story is dedicated to my friend Susannah Bianchi.
You Never Forget Your First
The kettle is screeching, sending out puffs of steam just like Yarr when he went out to play on a cold, winter day. There’s nothing like seeing a great red frolicking in the frosty air to make you feel like there’s still beauty left in the world.
I bring the cup to the stove and watch the teabag bleed rust as the boiling water hits it, coloring the water with that deep, hardwood hue that would have matched Yarr’s hide like a chameleon.
Gorgo, my new little one is scratching at the door, trying to get out. He was a gift from my sister. She got me a green, even though they’re supposed to be friskier (read: wilder). I open the door and Gorgo bounds off into the night. He’ll probably go hunting and I’ll go out for the morning paper to find a burglar or hobo lying on the doorstep. Then I’ll have to call the coroner and try to explain again. I couldn’t stay mad at him though, not with that open, innocent look of his. What an old softie I am.
I sit by the kitchen window and as I take a sip, the tea slips down my throat like a burst of invigorating fire. I hear Gorgo roaring out there in the velvet invisible, already on the prowl.
I miss Yarr but life goes on. Still, as they say, you never forget your first dragon.