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He Hates the Night


  12:58:07 pm by Vincent The Dragon, Categories: Uncategorized

He hates the night, yet

Can't resist its beckon.
(this was written a Very long time ago...please excuse the ill formed ideas but dreams are hard to capture into words and i am not a poet)

After the trials of another long day, he goes home to his small lonely house, feeds the cats and himself. He distracts himself for hours in his hobbies until the call of sleep can be fought no more. Sometime after tossing upon the bed, he slips into dreams

The dragon soars swiftly, through the misty clouds of early evening. He is flying home from a long journeys end. He can feel the heat of muscles seeking rest. Soon, he thinks to himself, soon will I be home to rest. Lost for a moment in his distractions, the sudden appearance of an otherwise familiar form coming up from beneath him, startles him form a brief second. He smiles to himself in relief, for he knows his journey is close at end. The form is Mianth, his love, joining him in the last leg. His journey, much as his own, was long and tiresome as well. His relief is great that they arrived together, so as neither of them would have to wait without the other. Though tired and weary he expends the effort to swoop down under him, doing a loop he lightly scrapes his tail along the others underside; a gentle in-air caress.

They land together at the lake. He looks to the soon to set sun. Mianth says what he is thinking. "The day is done, dear, our journeys are at end. Both we are tired and long for the rest of each others comfort" They slip into the lake to wash the pains of the days away. The naturally warm and clear lake always sooths them both. They wash each other and massage away the twinge of aching muscles. The bond of touching and stroking nulls the pain of the long journeys in which they have partook.

They slip from the lake and start towards the dry cave in the cliff they call home. Mianth stops in the clearing where the wind is always sweet and soft, allowing it to dry his wet body. He follows; stopping short, he looks upon him.

Mianth is of the same size and weight as he, his lines are smoother, softer, innately feline; his hide, soft the touch and silky in feel. From a distance its color could erroneously be called white. That description does it little justice. Basically white though it be, it has a quality hard to describe. Like the roaming, swirl of rainbow colors that floats on the skin of a soap bubble if caught just right in the sun, he shimmers with all the colors of creation. The clouds promise a rain on the horizon. The sun sets to his left as the sky explodes in endless hues of red and purple folds. Mianth senses his gaze and returns it.

He has the lines of a life of long and hard work. Although dotted with the scars of toiling, his hide is soft and warm to the touch. From a distance his color could be tan, but that description lacks by far. His coloring is not solid but a melding of many. The color of fresh turned earth to the warm cream of hazelnut milk. It's as if he were painted, one minuscule dot at a time from a hand of infinite shades of the same color. Looking closely upon him, if the sun is just right, you can make out, between the melding dots of colors, a strange shimmer. It is akin to the kaleidoscope of colors that dance on the water of a bath that has sweet oils in it.

They continue on up to their home. A large fire is lit in the hearth that adorns the wall as Mianth waits for him on the soft couch of furs. He stops, looking into his eyes, slowly advancing. Muzzle to chin, check to cheek. Slowly he slides his cheek down the others neck, Mianth to him the same. They embrace gently and drink in each other's presence. Deeply they take it in, the milk of that which sustains them. Their souls touch and their essence tingles with each others. In the moonlit night, they make love. Falling deep into each other's embrace, they fall into sleep.

The man awakes with a start. The alarm tells him that its time to get up; a new day awaits. A hot cup of coffee in hand, he steps outside and sits on the steps of his empty house. Eyes closed, he raises his head to take in the warmth of the bright morning sun then down at the wet ground. His eyes stop a puddle just to his left, remnants of a rain that fell in the night. He stairs into the glass surface of the still water. His reflection looks back, he notices lines that, just yesteryears, were not there. A single tear escapes and falls, disturbing the calm of his reflection; stirring it up into an odd shape. A shadow shoots by and startles from his calm. His eyes roam the cloudless sky for a familiar sight he has never yet seen. He sighs and prepares to leave, off to struggle with another long day.

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This would be the section of the web site where you will learn more about me than you likely wanted to.

...See what you get when you're not careful?

EEEP! it's me!

I am not the dog in the pic...

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