Horse Named Star Dancer © Surazeus 2024 11 21 Though it takes a hundred years of slow winds for the frail sorrowful barn to collapse under frantic weight of long-ignored fate, with unconcern of the slowly turned page, the old never-harvested apple tree grows from the last seed my grandmother spit. Still twenty years, lithe in short yellow dress, she leans against the newly painted barn, and peers past gold curls under white straw hat at timeless beauty of the normal sky composed of silver clouds over gold hills where sparrows flock between wind-blown larch groves. Aching with strange passion she cannot name, glorious with beauty of meaningful faith, she stares at clouds that never seem to change, though one resembles her favorite horse that died while pulling the dutiful plow, ghost of its loyalty over wheat fields. As tears for the horse, she secretly named Star Dancer, with his compassionate eyes, soak her cheeks with silly display of affection, she chooses to sing her favorite hymn about walking with Jesus in the garden, and pretends to pet the horse she adored. Spotting cloud of dust swirling from the road, she squints till her eyes discern without doubt quick black horseless carriage she heard about rumbling swiftly toward wood gate of her farm like demon Morax escaping from Hell, so she grabs her round willow-woven charm. Startled to see the horseless carriage zoom so swiftly toward her newly painted barn, Lois hides in haven of sturdy walls, peering between slats as the carriage stops, and gasps to see tall man in strange new suit step out with thin fedora-shadowed face. Grasping shovel with trembling hands of fear, she steels her heart to whack head of the thief, but shrieks and drops it when her cousin Archie steps forth in gleaming halo of the sun, then she laughs at his city-slicker suit, but coos at beauty of the car he bought. Holding dashboard tight with both trembling hands, Lois shrieks with banshee-joyful delight as he drives black Ford so fast down the road that trees and hills swirl into spiral blur, zooming time machine to town in ten minutes, so she spreads angel wings and soars to Heaven.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus grins when the Model T Ford with the young couple blows into his filling station, and asks them how they like their car as he fills the tank with gas.
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