• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 01
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“Bigotry dwarfs the soul by shutting out the truth.”
                                                                 -Edwin Hubbel Chapin

During that time, certain of the citizenry fantasized about invisible hoists always at the ready to boost them up-and-away from the sadness of the sidewalk and into the expanse of sky which melted deliberately over and into and between the things of the world.

During that time, had you been paying close attention, you might have caught a glimpse of them in their hot little woolen uniforms, and their peaked, midway hats. The troupe was small, very young and quite serious. Disguised as postal workers, one could surmise, oh say within the hour, that their ability to deliver mail was par excellence, regardless of what the laymen might consider less than favorable conditions. Ach! There I go again attempting to describe things as they seem, which in the beginning, or at the end for that matter, amount to nothing, are not helpful, and vaporize almost at the moment they are uttered.

I shall attempt to begin again. Though nothing was as it seemed, the citizenry fantasized about invisible hoists always at the ready to boost them up-and-away from the sadness of the sidewalk. The small boys – or perhaps I should say, the boys who seemed small, seemed like boys, were dutiful in their undertakings, whether real or imagined. No matter how many prayers you offered into the great lavender that they might remain a size which would allow you to carry them in your arms as if for protection for you both, your prayers were never answered, not by foot or by vehicle, nor in the varying road and weather conditions which were not the least bit germane.



One late afternoon as one of them stood handing out pieces junk-mail several hundred feet above the contemptuous swarm, those few who had taught themselves to clamber up the indiscernible lift scrambled, clawing over one another with the comportment of abandoned infant kangaroos lost in one-tree fields, left holding nothing but what they arrived with which was nothing.

I must begin again. Nothing was as it seemed. The citizenry had taken up the juvenile task of assembling flimsy, unreliable paper airplanes, hoping to disorient the youngish-appearing couriers. But it was unsuccessful. There was virtually no damage done, and what miniscule destruction might have occurred, or seemed to have occurred, the cloud architects would appear instantly to return everything, every little thing to the way it seemed.