Fables and Pairs and the Cunning Fennec Fox

12 January 2014

1609 hrs

Hello, Dear and Patient Reader,

       I am submitting another part of a fable I began in early 2012. It is the story of The Saker and The Cunning Fennec Fox, and it probably means more to me and one other person than it ever will to you. However, since I know you all are intelligent folks, and probably love a good story, I think you'll get a kick out of it. I hope you enjoy it, anyway.

       Mark this posting date on your calendars, for here is where I explain that you will not find the fable very linear. The piece below is, by my standards (and the yardstick by which you surely measure my writings), quite short, and begins much later than The Beginning, which was written about 2 or so years ago. It is not fully comprehensive of the fable, but rather yet another piece of the fable puzzle. Were I an overly philosophical Fox, I suppose I would go so far as to say the fable has no beginning, therefore it has no end. A sort of Joyce-like quality- if you'll permit me to mention my work in the same breath (sentence) as his genius.

        There will be more postings on the Saker and Fox- there have been short statements and allusions to them throughout the blog- Jesus . . . just look at the blog's title! So there is a reason, and a method to my madness. I thank you for your Patience, Patient Reader, as well as your Understanding of my Fractured Mind. So without further adieu, I believe I shall press on . . . Will you join me? Splendid!

The Saker and the Cunning Fennec Fox

Another Segment of the Saga

       As I make my way across the sand of the erg, I become aware of the winged shadow high above me, riding the rising warm air; free as the wind she, the beautiful saker, rides.

       I feel a cold wave of fear as it washes over me, rare as the rainstorm this fear mimics; a wetness that comforts me not, as a rainstorm should, but rather bogs me down with my wet fur. I feel as if I am dragging myself behind me- and in a way, I suppose, I am.

       There is no god to whom I may pray; I am alone on these dunes. I wish for a peace I know will never find me.

       I have met the saker before; we fell in love, she and I; but as she is a saker and I am a fox, she knew even before I did that one cannot be with the other and remain alive for long.

       It was not my fear, but hers. She was the one who doubted my life; doubted that she could live a life with something that cannot leave the ground. Even as I reach peaks of basalt that soar into the sky, it is still ground upon which I am perched. She feared I would fall from such a lofty place, and that, without the benefit of wings, I would fall a long fall and die without her. She feared that one way or another, she would be left alone. That she and her broken heart would be lost for good.

       How was I to conquer such a fear? All I had were words to try and comfort her; to assuage the panic that sometimes overcame her own soul. Acts could only be demonstrated over time; she was unable to see my heart's longevity because she did not wait for it. How does one show another that love would last for years when those years are never allowed to transpire? How can you believe in forever if time is never allowed to thrive? Allowed to move ever-onward in the first place?

       So now she soars above me, watching . . . I wish she would swoop; dive with her talons, pierce my skull and leave me bleeding into the hot sand. Pluck out this heart, already dead; a burden under which I labor, hoping for the comfort of death that is taking far too long to arrive.

       Yet she soars and rises and drifts and soars again; the most beautiful creature I have ever seen; Fair as the Moon, Clear as the Sun; Terrible as an Army with Banners . . .

to be continued . . .

More to come, Patient Reader . . . And as always, I remain . . .

The Cunning Fennec Fox