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reality quake |
sunset
after a warm spring day
Wearing a comfortable white robe, Ben Cypress Joy sits quietly on a meditation pedestal at the north end of the pleasure garden. Hands resting on knees, eyes half closed, he exists only as a silent watcher. A gentle breeze carries narcissus perfume and the subtle smells of growing plants. Paco floats serenely above, at the end of a long string.
there's a ripple in the air
distant objects blur out
then come back into focus
Ben's eyes pop open.
Ben looks around curiously. What was that?
For a moment the Art Gallery takes on a strange appearance, as if replaced by a great stone cathedral, with dozens of tall spires -- or is it a sand castle, crudely constructed and partly washed away by the tide?
As quickly as it came, the effect is gone. With a sense of relief, Ben realizes that there have not been any serious changes. He knows that reality quakes can really stir things up. He guesses that this one was fairly small. Of course, looks can be deceiving, he reminds himself.
Ben uses his twenty-six secondary undertentacles to push himself off the meditation pedestal, sucking in more sweet-smelling liquid ammonia through his auxiliary siphon. He quickly grabs three of the small symbiotic palpoids schooling in front of him, drains them of their nourishing secretions, and stuffs them into the recycling sac under his tail fins.
He jets off through the inky black water, thinking fondly of the hundreds of tiny larvae his wife has just released.
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