Not sure I will able to – or whether it makes any sense – update this on-going journal for the remainder of 2017, I wish every reader and submitter of works a merry Christmas and a happy New Year or whatever you celebrate. Without you, generous writers, this journal wouldn’t exist; and that’s the truth for every journal. Thank you again, all, for sending me your works and letting me bring your goodies forth for the world to read!!!
And then I’m gonna use the ed’s prerogative and publish one of my own 😉
It was another cold day and the Birdmaker put down the peregrine falcon he was working on. With the fourth he massaged three of his hands trying to get some warmth into them when the Windmaker came in causing a whirlwind of feathers. It was winter and no one could say whether it was in “the midst of”, “a little into” or “at the end of” it. It had been winter for so long that no one remembered it beginning and no one had any faith left in the prophecies of it ending. What fun could be had with making snowballs and ditto people had long since evaporated from the minds of the living. The Birdmaker snapped his fingers (with a little “ouch”) and the feathers went straight back to the table he was working at. He added a few ordinary falcon feathers and a big blue one from a parrot to the bird’s head and held it out in a straight arm: “Now this will raise some eyebrows – eventually”, he said and carried it into the storage room. For as long as anyone could remember it had been too cold for birds like that. Only penguins, a few gulls and the hardy barnacle geese could survive in the cold and the Birdmaker was a little tired of making the same kind of birds over and over. He yearned to use all his skills, so from time to time he would build something different, birds that belonged to spring and summer – but they were kept on hold till the (eventual) end of the seemingly endless winter. The Windmaker sat by the fire blowing into his hands with all four of his mouths; one for each face and a face for each corner of the world.
“Is there any coffee on the … thing”, he said not really sure of what to call the emu-of-constant-heat the Birdmaker had made into a coffee machine.
“Of course. Can’t function without it”, the Birdmaker said. “And there might be some in the thermo heron”.
“Nah, not really fond of thermo heron coffee. It tastes a bit … birdy”.
“Can’t be helped, can’t be helped”, said the Birdmaker, “but it’s way better than that from the thermo hippo the Beastmaker serves”.
“Yeah. That’s awful!” and the Windmaker’s four faces all expressed disgust.
Outside a storm howled throwing snow about and all was white.
“One of yours?”, asked the Birdmaker.
“Yes. He just has to let out some steam. He has been in a terrible mood all day and I’m tired of arguing with him”.
“It’ll blow over”, said the Birdmaker and they both laughed. After all, you only have the fun you make yourself.
embedded in the letter ø Earth’s tilted axis