Hanging In A Jar

The monsters came early that day, metal teeth gnawing through their home. Later, they flee in the downpour; scurrying past the moonlit oriel of the confused titian and her lamb. In their terror, they forget one of their own. At first he revels in his new found freedom, sliding down the basement stairs on a dinner tray, rustling through his brother's Nuts collection and even trying a shave on his soft downy fur. But it is cold and late. He is young and now he is scared. The titian opens the door to find our shivering friend. She beds him down for the night, warm in her scarf. The child woman whispers some vespers and tucks him into her towel. Midnight snacks are left in easy reach. By the morning he has gone.

NORWAY The whole mountainside is carpeted in blueberries! And juniper. Some say it's surely mushroom season. The children wander off for a few minutes and taste the delicacies. NOW. Magick children.  They are the rulers of Álfheimr.  They are elfin dams protecting Midgard from the torrents of nature. They are fiercesome warriors, saving us all from Trollebotten fiends.    They are Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley. They are the 1960s.  They are Alexander Tucker.  They see wonderous sights.  A bearded man in a fox stole and his twin float by. A hooded beast with a magic wand comes to them in the night. They see the future. They laugh at their new found powers. They laugh some more.  They forget why they are laughing. KISS play on.