Baby Dragon’s Breath
It was a dreary afternoon with gray earth and gray vegetation matching the gray sky. He was so used to staying indoors after the long cold winter. But yesterday was the Spring Equinox and ideally, this would be the time the buds would wake up.
“I need some fresh air,” He admonished himself for his laziness. He slammed the lid down on the notebook, fetched a toque and parka and headed outdoors. The cold air instantly filled his lungs but it still was refreshing. He strolled aimlessly about following the snaking somewhat muddy paths. He stopped once or twice, under bare trees and looked up to study the naked gray branches and the shy buds that remained hesitant to emerge.
“Don’t blame you.” He mumbled under his breath. But just a little while longer and all will be warm, sunny and bright. “Patience,” he whispered into the air watching the pattern his cold breath took. He then abruptly turned and walked away with his long strides now leading him towards his favorite spot, the pond nearby. Further along as the seasons rolled by with spring emerging into summer, this place would be bustling with life. The bulrushes would compete with lush grasses, wildflowers and some planted flowers. Then the bare branches of the trees would be covered in blooms. Those blooms would turn into luscious crimson red berries, poisonous to man but a treat to the visiting birds. Then the air will be filled with the contented happy songs of chirping. Meanwhile the frogs would contribute their baritone croaking to the high chirp of the crickets in nature’s delightful cacophony.
He mustn’t forget the odd turtle or two and, of course.... “Ducks!!!!” There was one particular pair that without fail always returned to this pond. Sociable, they did not mind sharing space with the other newcomers.
He climbed the few shallow steps and soon he was standing in the centre spot of the wooden bridge trying desperately to see anything remotely resembling spring.
“There!” His interest was drawn to the melting of the ice at the edge cluttered with gray debris and the rocks decked with moldy decorations, remnants of the long oppressive winter months. Those odd shapes on the gray rocks long at last peeked out from the oppressive ice.
The cool gusts suddenly rose up and thrashed his face. He buttoned his jacket up higher and pulled down his toque, and then smiled looking at the wonderful ripples on the pond. He was reminded of the Zen sand sculptures, so perfect and rhythmic were the ripples. Though the air was crisp, he was oblivious to the cold now observing this harmonious, endless flow of wavelets. The “Water level was lower than usual” he pondered as he studied the chunks of ice desperately clinging to the shore.
Suddenly his attention was drawn to the unusual rock, resembling the head of a Dragon, poking out in the centre of the pond. Yes, he reflected. It’s true, not all Dragons are fire breeders. Weren’t there Dragons residing in clouds and water, responsible for storms, rain and wind?
“Who’s to say? “ He shrugged and continued to watch the poking rock resembling a baby dragon’s head, laying low, quietly observing him while its shallow breaths created the steady ripples on the water.
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The End.
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