Livinghigh
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Livinghigh was here at 6:04 PM /



Comment: I'm getting nutty here

The woman with the flaming hair stood at the head of the cliff and wondered what to do next.

Common mythological sense demanded that she jump, hair radiating out in a dazzling red, and surrounding her aura as she fell. It was straight out of a movie set, actors rushing about her and all, something like those cheesy Hollywood fantasy pieces that were 'inspired' by some anacient Greek legend - aka, Conan the Savage, Hercules the Hothead, Kull the Conquistador, with a little bit of artistic license, anything is possible. She will henceforth be known as Raka the Gleamer.

But of course, no one knows what a Gleamer is. Consider this theory then: once in the seven ages of man, from within the pearly insides of the sea, emerges a firebolt, daughter of the earth beneath, ringed in fire, cradled in chaos, all sting and flutter, and when the fireball dies out, there remains in its place, a maiden of exquisite beauty, but fearful visage to behold, who makes the hearts of men quake before her, and villains tremble in her wake, for she leaves none spared, even as mere mortals can spy the fire-burn of her flaming tresses on the horizon, a tale to tell to future great-grandchildren... for she was... Raka the Gleamer.

So of course, the smooth, free-flowing logic of legend and lore would demand that she jump. Somehow, though, beautiful Raka reminds me of a chestnut mare, and I wonder if chestnut mares jump off cliffs. My miniscule imagination assures me, most definitely, they do not. I do not know what on earth chestnut mares do.

Eat oats, Raka the Gleamer, standing at the edge of a cliff?


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