Village Life
A village is a place where, apparently, they all
raise the children, presumably due
to unruly amounts of ill-prepared fathers, not mothers they
all were ready. Copious doped-up, beautiful children that
know how smart they are, that their inheritance
marvels them daily. Doped-up with the isolated genius
of their outside world, the animals looking back into the dark
soul-places and caverns. The kids love their parents with eyes,
the parents return with arms, food, but not so much their eyes.
But when it is time to call back all of the children, to
wrangle their spirit for the day and subdue their creation, there
is no use for anything but a cowbell that sings through the crevices
of the many houses, the space between the trees. You can hear it
reverberating throughout, the children hear it, acknowledge
and deactivate before re birthing with calm quiet.
Settled and seated, now the village commences the routine of
the evening with a feast that was usual, colorful, and assaulted
the senses with taste. The kind of feast where every red-blooded
adult glances sideways to see their spawn in non-competitive
bliss, tearing bread with healthy teeth.
Tomorrow, it will all be the same except each child,
a person in stasis, will chime the doorbell
of our overlords, only to be sent back down
to the frothy river intersection.
