3. Asiago

Warm things, moving things; shapes, dancing, alive. Browns and greys shifting into orange, flickering, flitting, sparks like stars but the stars are out there in the cold dark and you’re in here, surrounded by safe voices and familiar smells.  There are many here with you. Some are dancing, and those too old or too tired to dance are singing. The being you came from—your mother—holds your little hands in hers and spins, despite the pain in her soles from a long day spent gathering mushrooms and fruit. Long-haired furs laid out on the floor far from the fire tickle your ankles as you spin by.  “Be careful!” one of the older ones warns and your mother apologizes for you, halting your pair orbit by pulling you closer. The older one is mixing colors on sheets of bark, swirling spit and water and clay into reds and browns, the same reds and browns the bulls and horses running above your head are made from. It has been a long time since your family—your group, your people—have been ...

7:30 PM in beautiful California, once again winning the title of the best state with its beautiful beaches and gorgeous weather—and clouds! Aidan was once again enslaved by his father to work  in  the garden. They grew radishes, tomatoes, carrots,  mint  and a few fruit trees—mulberry and fig.  “Aidan, check the shed for my rake,” asked big man Russel. The shed that big man Russel speaks of is a rundown, half rotted construction of wood. No paint, barely any water sealant, and no concrete to be based on. One could say, completely “ yoloed .” Inside was kept the variety of gardening tools: rakes, shovels, ladders, and strangely a yellow blob of moving mass scurrying in the corner.   You see, Aidan  isn’t  what you would call a very “safe” child. His survival  instinct  (and intellect)  is  quite low so that instead of fear (which a normal person should experience) he experienced joy, for reasons I do not know. “Oh, ho! What is t...