Memories…

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Image by Pixabay.com

Memories

 

This lockdown has made me think of all those days in the past, days of fun and freedom.

Days where I daydreamed so much more than I do now.

But this was a strange memory, from a time of great uncertainty, a painful time when fate had dealt us a blow that we would all need time to recover from.

Due to those unfortunate circumstances, we came to rest in a static caravan in the south of England. We didn’t have any money and couldn’t imagine life getting any better, not in our lifetime anyway.

But the peaceful countryside began to work a miracle and before too long, we relaxed and began to enjoy our retreat.

We were surrounded by green fields and visited by sheep, deer and invisible but rather noisy wildlife, but on one magical sunny day, something happened.

I was pottering in the little garden that surrounded the caravan, when I heard what sounded like a rather large creature breathing heavily.

The sound was loud and filled the air, but what was making it?

My mind conjured up images of a magical dragon, and I searched the sky, only to be disappointed. The breathing seemed to be getting much louder and faster. The excitement was overwhelming.

Something made me turn around and coming straight at me was this huge brightly coloured hot air balloon.

I had never been this close to one before, usually, they were too high in the sky to see properly.

This one was so low, low enough to touch the roof of the caravan. I watched, mesmerised, as the enormous balloon skimmed over the top of the caravan and slowly came to land in the field in front of me.

In my mind’s eye, the dragon had been wounded, crashed to earth. Deflated, it lay strewn over the grass like a pile of coloured rags…

I didn’t own a camera back then, but I found a video on Youtube so you can picture what I was seeing.  (kinda backwards, if you know what I mean!

 

Far Below…

 

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

 

 

 

Far Below

 

Deep below in the castle dungeon, lay a red and gold dragon.

Chained to the wall, his colours fading as the years passed.

He could hear his mate calling, but he cannot break the chains. The fire no longer burns in his chest. Love is a fading memory, the egg she laid when last he saw, grown now.

He wished for her to leave this place, forget him, his freedom will not come.

For who would be brave enough to approach a dragon, whose foul food lay all around, fed by the master who captured him.

He too could be long dead, like the foul maggot stench the dragon lived in, hope slowly dying.

A new queen has taken the throne, a new broom sweeps through the castle.

On her wanderings, she found the dungeons. Peering down a large hole, the stench almost knocks her off her feet. She hears movement, a chain rattle. Someone was down there.

Her heart thumped.

She called the guards, demanding to know what lay below.

‘It is your father’s dragon, Mam and the one who flies above is his mate.’

‘Then we must set him free,’ she said.

‘You won’t find anyone who will go down there. They are afraid.’

‘Then I shall go, have a ladder placed here while I change my garments.’

This was done, and the queen descended, a large key in her hand.

The light from above illuminated the rot she stood in. A glint of red and gold flashed with the smallest of movements.

‘I need more men. This dragon will not die in my castle. A sling must be made. I want him transported to the sanctuary of my garden. I will wash and feed him. He will be saved. Go now, before I have you all tied in his place.’

The queen was never happier than when caring for her dragon.

Watching as his mate flew overhead, each day his strength returned.

Soon he will want to join her.

Everyone in the household thought her mad.

‘As soon as he is strong enough, he will kill her,’ they whispered.

This did not happen and the day came when he flew with his mate.

The day also came when she needed him to fight for her, to keep her reign and her castle…

AAAAA

The Power of Believing…

 

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Image by Pixabay.com

 

 

I have always been fascinated by dragons since I was a child, where myths and dragons were the order of play. Maybe there is a Welsh strain in my DNA somewhere!

I have a small stone plaque with a skeleton on it that I bought years ago when I was in Cornwall.  I really should move there, I love the place so much, but there is a problem. I can’t for the life of me decide which I like best, Cornwall or Wales. Decisions, decisions!
This plaque is supposed to have the bones of a baby dragon embedded on it, but it’s probably some kind of lizard. Most of the time I prefer to believe that it is real.

As writers, fantasy is basically what we are about, so I think I more than qualify!

Enough of all this dragon whimsy, and back to the subject of this weeks post.

Is there some kind of power in believing? I must admit I have a certain amount of trouble believing most things at face value, and that probably makes me sadly lacking somehow, or just stupid?
Surely not.
Why can I believe there were once dragons on this planet, but have trouble believing what people swear to me is the truth?

It does depend on the person of course. There are some people I wouldn’t believe if they swore on a stack of bibles, but when my granddaughter tells me that she loves me and that I am wonderful, I tend to believe her! But honestly, I think it must boil down to our common sense. I think that if something seems logical, it is probably true. Or is that just my stupid brain?

I recognise that I have a problem in this department and I blame all the people who have lied to me in the past. Too many, I fear.

It is astonishing the things we do insist on believing. Like I choose to believe that my writing will get better if I work at it hard enough.

And maybe it will, simply because I believe it…

©Jaye Marie