M achinations …

 

And the sun rises and sets and passes over us.
And the moon rises and sets and passes over us.
And the stars rise and set and pass over us.

I turn around as Kylie and Nigel enter the clearing in the middle of the hedge labyrinth made of laurel plants.

»There you are«, Kylie says.

»With that black sheep we have met before«, Nigels adds the obvious.

»Creatures of night, brought to light! the black sheep proclaims. »What do I have to do to make you believe that I am Mr Tumbleweed, a faun, not just any black sheep from the pastures, humans? It is like being caged again at Mommy Fortuna's Midnight Carnival where they put false, shining horns on real unicorns' foreheads to make so-called normal people see and recognize them as real unicorms.«

Kylie sighs deeply.

»And somehow I feel like it was the last unicorn at that time«, she whispers.

»And we have missed the Full Corn Moon, the black sheep, who wants to be called Mr Tumbleweed, the faun, remarks. »Some will call it Harvest Moon because it was the nearest moon to the autumnal equinox.«

And the mystical being starts turning in circles, slowly at first, then causing a little whirlwind made of earth and dust. The animal is getting taller, standing up on hindlegs that all of a sudden look more like goats' legs than sheep legs. Some kind of transformation has begun.

»Creatures of night, brought to light!«

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

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Today is Friday, the 29th of September 2023.

Full Corn Moon

Two-thousand-eighteen Shades Of Bromford - Part 264

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🦛🦛🦛🦛🦛 Today is Monday, the 25th of September. Some say a hippopotamus is only a rhinoceros without the horn. Some say - and I am one of them - hippopotamus is Greek for fat, little horse. But always remember: ALL THESE ANIMALS ARE DANGEROUS! All these cute little Dangerouses ...

"Bromford"

Stonecutters made them from stones
Chosen specially for you and I
Who will live inside
The mountaineers gathered tinder
Piled high
In which to take along
Driving many miles, knowing they'd get here

When they got here, all exhausted
On the roof leaks they got started
And now when the rain comes
We can be thankful

Ooh aah ooh
When the mountaineers
Saw that everything fit they were
Glad and so they took off

Thought we were due for
A change or two
Around this place
When they get back they're all mixed up with no one to stay with


The village used to be all one really needs
That's filled with hundreds and hundreds of chemicals
That mostly surround you
You wish to flee but it's not like you
To listen to me, listen to me

Oh, oh, oh and when the morning comes,
We will step outside
We will not find another man in sight
We like the newness, the newness of all
That has grown in our garden soaking for so long

Whenever I was a child I wondered what if my name had changed
Into something more productive like Bromford
Been born in 1891
Waiting with my Aunt Rosaline

Thought we were due
For A change or two
Around this place
When they get back they're all mixed up with no one to stay with

1891
They roamed around and foraged
They made their house from cedars
They made their house from stones


Oh, they're a little like you
And they're a little like me
We have all we need

Thought we were due for
A change or two
Around this place
This place
This place

When they get back they're all mixed up with no one to stay with
When they get back they're all mixed up with no one to stay with

E arnings …

 

»Why did you do that to us, Professor? We loved you! We trusted you!«

KussKuss, the llama, is getting all melodramatic.

»I am not a professor, I told you«, answers Claude Sideburns, who is not a professor for archaeology and not as they used to call him Claude Burnside. »And what did I do to you?«

The llama is drowning in tears.

With a shaky voice it says, »You betrayed us. Twice! You wanted to steal our treasure map and led us to that fiery dragon under the lake just to take all of our belongings. How yould you be so rude, so mean?«

Taken aback Sideburns is waving his hands in front of his body in a defensive gesture.

»But that was only a tall tale some artificial intelligence from the internet wrote. Nothing but a pack of lies. Don't you remember?«

Now Gilbert, the butler, who might or might not be Sideburns' father, takes back the stack of paper and is waving it in his hands in a most dramatic way.

»But it is all printed out here, loud and clear«, he proclaims. »Ehm, I mean, black on white, printed out black on white, word by word.«

»We are wasting time here, my dears«, Hildegard, the housekeeper, remarks. »Feels like we are walking and talking into our fourth season here without getting anywhere. And still we have no signs of Bromford Bibble and the other two and not the slightest clue how to use that circle-dial of stones no-one has ever seen before.«

»Sorry, Hildegard«, Gilbert whispers. »I got carried away.«

But Hildegard is smiling a very smirkey smile and I do not know whether the other two heard her following words or not,

»There still might be dragons.«

And a faint choir of voices like from the laurel leaves of the hedge labyrinth itself keeps on singing its' bittersweet little song,

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?

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Today is Saturday, the 23rd of September 2023.

Bon automne ! Bon automne !