N aives …

 
And a voice sings this song…

VERY LOUD…

Bored of the life in the City of Gold
He'd left and let nobody know.
Gone were the towers he had known from a child,
Alone with the dream of a life
He travelled the wide open road,
The blinkered arcade,
In search of another to share in his life.
Nowhere.
Everyone looked so strange to him.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And wept as they led him away to a cage
Beast that can talk, read the sign.
The creatures they pushed and they prodded his frame
And questioned his story again.
But soon they grew bored of their prey
Beast that can talk?
More like a freak or publicity stunt.
Oh
No.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And broke down the door of the cage and marched on out.
He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out:
There, beyond the bounds of you weak imagination
Lie the noble towers of my city, bright and gold.
Let me take you there, show you a living story
Let me show you others such as me
Why did I ever leave?

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And wept.

And so we set out with the beast and his horns
And his crazy description of home.
After many days journey we came to a peak
Where the beast gazed abroad and cried out.
We followed his gaze and we thought that maybe we saw
A spire of gold - no, a trick of the eye that's all,

🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜
🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜
🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜🔜

Today is Thursday, the 30th of November 2023

Ride the Whirlwind

D addy-longlegs …

 
»You did well«, Hildegard, his housekeeper and mother, is patting Claude Sideburns' shoulder.

»Did I?« he asks sceptically.

I never noticed how old they both are, and how even older she must be.

»Is something wrong?« Kylie asks.

»Why are there thirteen stones and symbols?« Nigel, her son, adds. »If there are twelve months in one year and one month is a unit of time, used with calendars, that is approximately as long as a natural orbital period of the Moon - and the words month and Moon are cognates, by the way…«

»Him using those words is one of the reasons why I send him to college«, Kylie says to Gerald, the butler and father of Claude Sideburns, not without pride.

»And if each month has got one full-moon«, Nigel continues, »why are there thirteen symbols in your moon-circle?«

A grinding sound that is getting louder is interrupting this discussion. The stones and symbols in the circle have started to glow again, except for two of them. The thirteenth stone has sunken into the ground as well in the meantime, still dark. The whole circle has started to turn while the glowing symbols are sending orang-blue flashes towards the center. And the circle is turning faster and faster.

The grinding sound is getting higher and in the end so high-pitched that is does not hurt our ears any longer. You cannot tell the single stones apart. They have become the blurred edge of a circular arear that is definiatley not mud or frontyard anymore. The lights have gone brighter with the flashes forming one pulsating and disrupted surface with orange-blue waves dancing around like on a stormy ocean.

»There is something wrong«, Mr.Tumbleweed, the faun, says. »The gate has opened, that is right. The circle of stones should be rotating like that. That is right, too. But the surface should be all smooth and plain and more like silver in the beginning. It should resemble the sea or a lake on a quiet day, like a mirror. And you should be able to see your destination through it, on the other side, so to speak.«

»Should, should«, the llama is mocking the faun. »Could, could, …«

I am bumping and jostling it with my bent arm to keep it calm.

»We should see the green hills and meadows of Greenlion and the City of Gold and its' towers glistening between the peaks on the not so far horizon. Even the hanging branches of the willow tree from where I once came into your world would be better than this mess we are staring at right here, right now.«

Claude Sideburns has left his mother's and houskeeper's side and is approaching the circle again.

»Looks like a very dirty whirlpool to me«, the llama says. »A whirlpool with way to many bubbles.«

»But I can see something on the other side, I think«, Claude says.

»What do you see?« the faun asks stepping right at his side. Mr. Tumbleweed is more than two heads taller than the man who is not a professor for archaeology - pointed ears and horns not measured.

»I don't know, yet«, Sideburns replies. »Could be planks or other boards of some kind. Like on a ship or like parquet on a dance floor.«

»Looks all wet to me«, Nigel adds who is taking a closer look now, too.

»Come back from that thing.« Kylie is grabbing her son's arm. »It could be dangerous.«

The world around us has gone all unnatural quiet with no sounds and noises from the lands and estate of Brompton Castle, neither living nor mechanical ones. But as I lean forward now, I can faintly hear winds blowing and waves splashing on wood emerging from the inside of the glowing and pulsating circle.

And all of a sudden the waves on the surface of the circle are forming a giant whirlwind which is still emitting the strange orange and blue light with a hint of gold and spinning and turning fast and faster until it drags us inside. I can see Kylie floating and falling next to me still gotten hold of Nigel's arm. And Claude Sideburns and Mr. Tumbleweed, the faun, are also here, shaken and shocked, not knowing what is happening.

Outside the circle I can see Hildegard's and Gerald's pale faces and wide eyes and open mouths and the llama getting all upset.

»Hey? Where are you going?« the animal shouts. »Not without me!«

And with a running jump off all four legs at once the llama follows us into all this spinning and turning and flying and falling…

Bored of the life in the City of Gold
He'd left and let nobody know.
Gone were the towers he had known from a child,
Alone with the dream of a life
He travelled the wide open road,
The blinkered arcade,
In search of another to share in his life.
Nowhere.
Everyone looked so strange to him.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And wept as they led him away to a cage
Beast that can talk, read the sign.
The creatures they pushed and they prodded his frame
And questioned his story again.
But soon they grew bored of their prey
Beast that can talk?
More like a freak or publicity stunt.
Oh
No.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And broke down the door of the cage and marched on out.
He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out:
There, beyond the bounds of you weak imagination
Lie the noble towers of my city, bright and gold.
Let me take you there, show you a living story
Let me show you others such as me
Why did I ever leave?

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And wept.

And so we set out with the beast and his horns
And his crazy description of home.
After many days journey we came to a peak
Where the beast gazed abroad and cried out.
We followed his gaze and we thought that maybe we saw…

☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑☑

Today is Wednesday, the 29th of November 2023.

Mr. Tumbleweed, a Faun

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 272

Today is Tuesday, the 28th of November 2023.

They did it, said the dromedary. The faun and his company opened the Gate.

That is what the animal society is spreading, the goat agreed. But what are you doing around here in these parts of the world, Dromedary?

Smiling the dromedary answered, As I said. They opened the Gate. I came through that Gate from that one holy evening about four weeks in the future. Do you remember three kings, a crib and that one HU and yet devine child?

You are a liar, the goat said.

And the caravan moved on ...

🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪🐪

"From Bromford"

Babe, there's something tragic about you
Something so magic about you
Don't you agree?

Babe, there's something lonesome about you
Something so wholesome about you
Get closer to me

No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony
No 'who cares', no vacant stares, no time for me

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Bromford just to sit outside your door

Babe, there's something wretched about this
Something so precious about this
Where to begin

Babe, there's something broken about this
But I might be hoping about this.
Oh, what a sin

To the strand a picnic plan for you and me
A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Bromford just to sit outside your door

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago
Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword
Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know
I slithered here from Bromford just to hide outside your door

O asises …

»And here we are now«, the black sheep who - while telling us its' story - had gone through a real and amazing transformation during a blurred period of weeks and days is finshing this story. »Finally. At the right place. At the right time.«

Right before our eyes the wooly animal has turned into a half-goat, half-human being. And still we are not able to say or desripe how. All of a sudden Mr. Tumbleweed, the faun, is standing next to us on his hairy goat's legs with its' split hooves. Long hair and beard from an almost human face and head are falling on a human chest where a pan flute is dangling at a golden chain. But there are also two big goatlike ears and two impressive curved horns. A long tail completes the image. Here it is, the beast with horns and tail that can talk.

»See, the Beaver Moon is rising!«

The faun is poiting at the dark sky.

»And here uncovered from the mud lies the ancient circle of stones, my potal, my gate that will bring me back to the Island of Greenlion, my home.«

We are all looking back and forth between the full-moon above us and the glooming circle beneath our feet.

»One year of your time has past«, the faun continues, »twelve moons have risen and shined.«

For the first time since the herd of sheep has danced free the circle I take my time to count the signs and symbols and the number of stones themselves. There are thirteen stones arranged in that circle, each engraved with a different symbol. One of the symbols in the circle of stones is now shining brighter than the others. In a pale blue it seems to reflect the moon in the sky. And somehow it reminds me of beaver teeths.

»Every stone, every symbol represents one of the full-moons your world has seen since the beginning of this year«, the faun explains. »And they are all here. Wolf Moon, Snow Moon, Worm Moon, Pink Moon, Flower Moon, Strawberry Moon, Buck Moon, Sturgeon Moon, Full Corn Moon, Hunter's Moon, Beaver Moon …«

Every time the magical being speaks out one of the moons' names one of the symbols on the stones seems to shine a little lighter, except for two of them.

»And finally, last but not least, the Cold Moon.«

This time I notice no reaction beneath my feet.

»Now, open the gate for me!

Claude Sideburns who is not a professor for archaeology but always good for an adventure steps forward.

»So, please, tell me how.«

»All you have to do is to press the stones, one after the other with both of your hands  when I say the full-moons' names. Then you will see what happens.«

»But this year is not over yet, is it?« Kylie says maybe a little too quiet. »There will be one more full-moon before New Year's Day, I think.«

But the faun and Sideburns, who is not called Burnside, are not listening to her.

Mr. Tumbleweed is repeating the names of the moons and like before every time he does so one of the symbols seems to emit a special glow of blue and orange with a hint of gold. And Claude Sideburns hurries to lean onto each stone with his whole weight pressing with both hands.

He has gone on his knees, crawling through the mud of his frontyard. Only once he gets a little irritated and hesitates as there is a little pause between the Sturgeon Moon and Full Corn Moon as if the circle doesn't know which symbol it should let shine next. But when the faun calls out the name of the last moon of one year's full-moon circle,

»And finally, Cold Moon!«

Sideburns does not hesitate to press the sign next to the Beaver Moon symbol, although I am quite sure that it didn't glow at all, not even after a short pause.

Claude Sideburns stands up and takes a step back. Twelve stones have sunken deeper into the mud after he has pressed them. One stone and symbol remain higher than the other ones. The glow has gone. And nothing happens at all…

At first.




Bored of the life in the City of Gold
He'd left and let nobody know.
Gone were the towers he had known from a child,
Alone with the dream of a life
He travelled the wide open road,
The blinkered arcade,
In search of another to share in his life.
Nowhere.
Everyone looked so strange to him.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And wept as they led him away to a cage
Beast that can talk, read the sign.
The creatures they pushed and they prodded his frame
And questioned his story again.
But soon they grew bored of their prey
Beast that can talk?
More like a freak or publicity stunt.
Oh
No.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And broke down the door of the cage and marched on out.
He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out:
There, beyond the bounds of you weak imagination
Lie the noble towers of my city, bright and gold.
Let me take you there, show you a living story
Let me show you others such as me
Why did I ever leave?

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And wept.

And so we set out with the beast and his horns
And his crazy description of home.
After many days journey we came to a peak
Where the beast gazed abroad and cried out.

🌕

🌕🌕🌕

🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕

🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕

🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕

🌕🌕🌕

🌕

Today is Monday, the 27th of November 2023.

Beaver Moon

F abrics …

 
»One morning after a long and exhausting feast with lots of pan flute music and dancing, vine and food I fell asleep under an old willow tree by a silver creek«, the black sheep continues its' story after a little while. »But I did not notice the circle of stones around the old tree which lay flat in the grass. And I did not hear the laughter of the wise and knowing owl that lived in a cave in the trunk.

The moment I had closed my eyes a Flower Moon in daylight uncovered from the white, fair weather clouds and activated the stone-circle as a portal into your world. Deep in my sleep I did not see and feel what was going on and when I woke up the Island of Greenlion and the City of Gold were gone. I was sitting under a much smaller tree by a wide open stone road.

Travellers were passing by with their carriages and handcarts hardly noticing me or trying hard to ignore me. Most of them seemed to see me only as an ordinary black sheep. Only a few seemed to recognize me as the faun I am.

And I got all excited. These were the foreign lands I had hoped to visit back in Greenlion. This was my opportunity to live and seek the adventures I was looking for. I travelled the wide open road but after a time everyone looked so strange to me. They had got no horns and they had got no tails. Most of them had never heard of us fairies and the Kingdom Greenlion of magical creatures. And no one wanted to hear my music.

Then came the day that Mommy Fortuna found me. She was an old crooked witch of little magical power who was travelling the land with her circus and travelling show putting all kinds of freaks and magical creatures on display. She called it 'Mommy Fortuna's Midnight Carnival - Creatures of night, brought to light!'

Most of her creatures were a fraud. She used her little magic power to make a shabby, toothless lion look like a Manticore, a poor old ape like a Satyre or a slowworm like the mighty Midgard snake that is encircling the whole world. Nothing but illusions and false images to trick the poor-minded who were easily convinced and eager for more and more attractions.

But Mommy Fortuna had luck - or besides me two other magical creatures had bad luck. She put me into a cage after she caught me asleep by the side of the road. The same way she got hold of my two neighbours in the cages next to mine. There was a real unicorn - one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen - and - kind of the opposite to that coin - a grim old scary Harpy with wings and long deadly claws.

Humans like you came to the Carnival to see us creatures and payed lots of money to do so. But they got bored and sick of us soon. I was only a freak that could talk, they said, some kind of publicity stunt. And they found other attractions in your world. Earning less and less money, Mummy Fortuna got addicted to cheap vine and careless in her magical spells on her prisoners. The Harpy - the unicorn used to call her Mommy Fortuna's caged death - used her weekness and her chance and broke free. She killed the old witch and escaped into the dark of night. The unicorn freed the other animals and creatures including me.

Since than I travelled the wide open road in search of another to share in my life. Another just like me. But I never found one. Years and centuries have gone by since and finally the nagging feeling of homesickness replaced my longing of Wanderlust. I have searched your whole world for the special places and times where magical connections between your and my world can appear. And now I am quite certain, I found one right here, right now.«

Bored of the life in the City of Gold
He'd left and let nobody know.
Gone were the towers he had known from a child,
Alone with the dream of a life
He travelled the wide open road,
The blinkered arcade,
In search of another to share in his life.
Nowhere.
Everyone looked so strange to him.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And wept as they led him away to a cage
Beast that can talk, read the sign.
The creatures they pushed and they prodded his frame
And questioned his story again.
But soon they grew bored of their prey
Beast that can talk?
More like a freak or publicity stunt.
Oh
No.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And broke down the door of the cage and marched on out.
He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out:
There, beyond the bounds of you weak imagination
Lie the noble towers of my city, bright and gold.
Let me take you there, show you a living story
Let me show you others such as me
Why did I ever leave?

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And wept.

And so we set out with the beast and his horns
And his crazy description of home.
After many days journey we came to a peak

🔚🔚🔚🔚🔚🔚

🔚🔚🔚🔚🔚🔚

🔚🔚🔚🔚🔚🔚

🔚🔚🔚🔚🔚🔚

Today is Friday, the 24th of November 2023.

Transformation Part Two

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 271

Today is Monday, the 20th of November 2023.

It is happening again, said the goat. Can you feel it?

The sheep agreed nodding, I can feel it in the air. I can feel it in the earth. I can feel it in the water.

Seven days since last new moon, said the goat, and eight days till next full moon. Magic is loading up the atmosphere like electricity before a thunderstorm.

Thunder and lightning? the sheep asked. Not in November.

Only as a metaphor, answered the goat, but we will never know where the two-legged HU will take us in the future. It's that faun at Brompton Castle.

Yes, the sheep said, the ram told me about him earlier. The starlings say, he calls himself Mr. Tumbleweed. And the crows know that he found the Gate.

As I said, said the goat, it is happening again. They are going to open the Gate. And it would be the first time in a thousand years. That's what the owls say.

We will see, the sheep said leaving the goat. And my best greetings and wishes to the SLAS.

🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐

🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐
🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐

🐐🐐🐐🐐🐐

"Bromford Incident"

Standing by the Everyman, digging the rigging on my sail
Rain fell to sounds of harpsichords, to the spell of fairy tale.
The heath was hung in magic mists, enchanted dripping glades,
I'll taste a taste until my mind drifts from this scene and fades
In the night time.

Crystals sparkle in the grass, I polish them with thought
On my lash there in my eye a star of light is caught.
Fortunes told in grains of sand, here I am is all I know
Candy stuck in children's hair, everywhere I go
In the night time,
In the night time.

Gypsy is the clown of love, I paint his face a smile
Anyone we ever make we always make in style. Yeah!
Yeah, strange young girls with radar screenings, yeah,
And hands as quick as hate
I won't just now, later on maybe and even then I'll wait
In the night time,
In the night time.

Standing by the Everyman, digging the rigging on my sail
Rain fell to sounds of harpsichords, to the spell of fairy tale.
The heath was hung in magic mists, enchanted dripping glades,
I'll taste a taste until my mind drifts from this scene and fades
In the night time.
In the night time.

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 270

Today is Sunday, the 12th of November 2023

A ram met a sheep on a meadow.

Do you know Brompton Castle? the ram asked the sheep.

The medieval 12th century motte and bailey castle which survived only as earthworks? asked the sheep.

I don't know what that means, the ram answered.

Ruins and even less than ruins, said the sheep, but I am not much into the SLAS these days.

The what? the ram asked.

The Secret Live of Animals Society, my dear, said the sheep. Do you remember? First rule, don't let the two-legged HU know you understand them and speak their language.

Oh, that society, the ram said. Haven't heard the name in a long time. And no, I am not talking about fortifications and earthworks without ruins. I am talking about Brompton Castle, the manson and home of the Sideburns family. Rumours say a faun was living there, one disguising as a black sheep.

Only rumours, my dear, said the sheep. And there won't be much magic around. Don't you see? There is going to be a new moon tomorrow.

Oh, you are right, the ram said and both parted ways.

🐑🐑🐑🐑
🐑🐑🐑🐑

🐑🐑🐑🐑

"All The Way To Bromford (You're Gonna Be A Star)"

Humming all the way to Bromford
You've dusted the non believers
And challenged the laws of chance
Now, sweet
You're so sugar sweet
You may as well have had 'kick me'
Fastened on your sleeve

You know what you are
You're gonna be a star
You know what you are
You're gonna be a star

Wing Is written on your feet
Your Achilles heel is a tendency to dream
But you've known that from the beginning
You didn't have to go so far
You didn't have to go


You know what you are
You're gobna be a star
You know what you are
You're gonna be a star

You know who you are
You know who you are
You know who you are

Humming all the way to Bromford
You've written your own directions
And whistled the rules of change

You know what you are
You're gonna be a star
You know what you are
You're gonna be a star
You know what you are
You're gonna be a star
You know what you are
You're gonna be a star


Humming all the way to Bromford
All the way to Bromford
All the way to Bromford
You're gonna be a star, you are
You're gonna be a star
You're gonna be a star, you are
You're gonna be a star

S acrileges …

 

»Do you speak sheep?« Kylie whispers in llama's and my direction.

»Or faun?« Nigel, her son, adds quietly from our other side.

But foreign languages are not necessary, yet. Still four days till new moon and even if the sheep is starting to look sheepier than ever we are still able to understand it.

»Once there was the great Kingdom of Greenlion and Oberon and Titania were King and Queen of all fairies. They sat on their wooden thrones in their wide halls of the capital of the realm, the mighty City of Gold, where I lived. I was a young faun then with still growing hair on my goat-like legs and lower body and in my beard and still growing hornes and tail. But I already was a fabulously talented player of my magical pan flute. I played it every night and at every feast around the campfires. I enchanted my listeners with my music, made them dance and dizzy at the same time, made them dream and their dreams come true - even only within the lengths of one of my songs. They called me Mr. Tumbleweed because I always felt light and blown here and there by the warm winds of Greenlion and the Kollobita´´rtainnen Sea.«

»Kollobi…?« the llama begins to ask but Kylie is shushing the animal, all fascinated by the black sheep's story.

»But soon I got bored of the life in the City of Gold and on the Island and Continent of Greenlion. A longing feeling of Wanderlust got hold of me when I looked over the hills and mountains of my home from the golden towers or when I stood at the beach of the Kollobita´´rtainnen Sea following the waves rolling back from the land into the ocean and to the faraway horizons, only with my eyes. And I started to wonder what might lie beyond the bounds of my weak imagination. 'There is nothing for you out there', my friends and family said. 'All you need is here in the City of Gold. Here are all the ones who love you. Go ahead, play us another of your cheering songs. Dance for us. Dance with us!'

And I danced.«

Bored of the life in the City of Gold
He'd left and let nobody know.
Gone were the towers he had known from a child,
Alone with the dream of a life
He travelled the wide open road,
The blinkered arcade,
In search of another to share in his life.
Nowhere.
Everyone looked so strange to him.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And wept as they led him away to a cage
Beast that can talk, read the sign.
The creatures they pushed and they prodded his frame
And questioned his story again.
But soon they grew bored of their prey
Beast that can talk?
More like a freak or publicity stunt.
Oh
No.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And broke down the door of the cage and marched on out.
He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out:
There, beyond the bounds of you weak imagination
Lie the noble towers of my city, bright and gold.
Let me take you there, show you a living story
Let me show you others such as me
Why did I ever leave?

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And wept.

And so we set out with the beast and his horns
And his crazy description of home.

🔙🔙🔙
🔙🔙🔙

🔙🔙🔙

Today is Thursday, the 9th of November 2023.

Transformation Part One

E ar-shots …

As the black sheep approaches the circle of stones with its' engraved signs and symbols in the mud in the front yard of Brompton Castle, the whole structure seems to start to glow in blue and orange lights with slight hints of gold.

»Ah«, the sheep sighs, »this reminds me of my city and towers of home.«

»Excuse me«, Claude Sideburns addresses the animal in a polite way, »am I right to assume that those symbols are somehow connected to the long sunken culture and island of Greenlion? I mean after all these improbabilities and coincidences finally … somehow … and in a most unrealistic way … a green treasure map with the old language of Greenlion has brought us here. And even if I am not a professor for archaeology treasure maps are still something like my field of expertise.«

»The demon sheep ate the treasure map«, the llama exclaims, »chewed it up and swallowed it! I remember that cleary now. Burn the demon sheep!«

»Step aside!«

The black sheep who claims to be a faun and wants to be called Mr Tumbleweed pushes the llama away with its bum.

»Let me talk to Mr. Sideburns. You might not be a real professor but you are my archaeologist and Lord of Brompton Castle at heart. You have read all these books about Greenlion and everyone laughed at you because you thought it was real. And you are right. The green island of Greenlion exists, home of the elves and fairies, fauns and centaurs, mysterious and magical creatures of all kinds and shapes and sizes. Kingdom of Oberon, King of the fairies, and his beautiful and ageless Queen Titania. Greenlion is sunken and lost in the oceans and mists of space and time. And nowadays only at special places and certain times in your world a connection to that Kingdom can be established. This circle of stones is one of those special places.«

»Goatshit!« the llama spits out.

I am getting nearer to my furry friend trying to pet the curly hair around its' long neck.

»Calm down, little fellow«, I whisper. »Let it happen. This time it isn't all about you.«

The black sheep goes on,

»Since we are only six days away from the next new moon and I only six days away from losing my magical powers including my abiliy to talk let me tell you about my past in Greenlion and how I got into your world and how I got stuck here.«

The sheep looks down to the stone-circle then up to the cloudy November sky and when it opens its mouth again out comes a bleated baaing.

Bored of the life in the City of Gold
He'd left and let nobody know.
Gone were the towers he had known from a child,
Alone with the dream of a life
He travelled the wide open road,
The blinkered arcade,
In search of another to share in his life.
Nowhere.
Everyone looked so strange to him.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And wept as they led him away to a cage
Beast that can talk, read the sign.
The creatures they pushed and they prodded his frame
And questioned his story again.
But soon they grew bored of their prey
Beast that can talk?
More like a freak or publicity stunt.
Oh
No.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And broke down the door of the cage and marched on out.
He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out:
There, beyond the bounds of you weak imagination
Lie the noble towers of my city, bright and gold.
Let me take you there, show you a living story
Let me show you others such as me
Why did I ever leave?

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And wept.

And so we set out with the beast and his horns

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

Today is Tuesday, the 7th of November 2023.

Brompton Castle

 

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 269

Today is Saturday, the 4th of November 2023.

It is November, said the ram to the pig. Do you like this month?

I don't like it, said the pig. I think it is expendable.

I think you think it is expandable, said the ram and rammed a ramp.

🐏🐏🐏🐏

"I Should See Bromford"

Endless vacation
Felt like perdition
Sybarite woman
Stood at attention
Pacing the basement, like Cassius in Rome
Or in Kinshasa
"Just let me at him"
Like First Manassas
Like Appomattox
I've got my teeth in it
I won't let go

(But I gave you no option
Illusion of choosing
And if you wouldn't stop them
Then you just hate losing)

I miss the highway
I should see Bromford
She sees it my way
Her and Osiris

C abbages …

»I am not a demon sheep, good lady. I am not a demon nore a sheep. I am a faun. Call me Mr Tumbleweed«, the black sheep who wants to be called a faun and Mr Tumbleweed, says.

»Why is she a good lady and I am only a female human?«

Kylie is not amused.

»She makes the world's finest apple-pies, you know.«

»So you are the one who is stealing my pies from the window sill where I put them for cooling. So you are a thieving, stealing demon sheep.«

»What is a faun?« asks the llama.

»I think, a faun is some kind of bird«, Gerald, the butler says.

»Sorry, father«, says Claude Sideburns, the man who is not called Burnside and not a professor for archaelogy, »I think you are mistaking the word faun with the old Klingon word Pfau. A Pfau is one of those impressive and most colourful birds we call peafowl or peacock in our language. I might not be much of a scholar, but I think a faun - or Latin Faunus - is a half-human and half-goat mythological creature appearing in Greek and Roman mythology. Originally fauns of Roman mythology were ghosts - or genii - of rustic places, lesser versions of their chief, the god Faunus. Before their conflation with Greek satyrs, they and Faunus were represented as naked men. Later fauns became copies of the satyrs of Greek mythology, who themselves were originally shown as part-horse rather than part-deer.«

»No naked man here«, Hildegard the housekeeper says - in a somewhat disappointed way. »All I see is still a walking and talking demon sheep. And what did you do to the fabulous laurel hedge labyrinth? Look at the leaves. They are all withering. We could have taken entrance fees. We could of made millions of billions of money. Thank goodness, we still have this circle of stones to turn into a tourists' attraction.«

»You have nothing, old lady«, the black sheep says. »You have nothing without my magic. I made the labyrinth grow within only a few minutes. And within only a few minutes I made it disappear. And the stone circle is not yours to turn into an attraction. The stone circle is my way back home.«

The llama is frowning and growling at the black sheep.

»There is space for only one walking and talking animal in this story, you know.«

The sheep is rolling its' eyes.

»Then help me to get out of your story«, it says. »Please.«

A pan flute is echoing from a distance.

Bored of the life in the City of Gold
He'd left and let nobody know.
Gone were the towers he had known from a child,
Alone with the dream of a life
He travelled the wide open road,
The blinkered arcade,
In search of another to share in his life.
Nowhere.
Everyone looked so strange to him.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And wept as they led him away to a cage
Beast that can talk, read the sign.
The creatures they pushed and they prodded his frame
And questioned his story again.
But soon they grew bored of their prey
Beast that can talk?
More like a freak or publicity stunt.
Oh
No.

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried

And broke down the door of the cage and marched on out.
He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out:
There, beyond the bounds of you weak imagination
Lie the noble towers of my city, bright and gold.
Let me take you there, show you a living story
Let me show you others such as me
Why did I ever leave?

They've got no horns and they've got no tail
They don't even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a City of Gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And wept.

➰

Today is Wednesday, the 1st of November 2023.

Withering Labyrinths