Three of Time and One of Space
“Becky, do you know what a Magus is?” I asked as we walked. We crested the little ridge that set the interior of the island apart from its beach and the river. My mood was calm and the strange dusk of the apparent evening helped keep me that way. The assault by the tree and the subsequent healing by Adam and his wife, Eve, had rounded off the anxious edge to my confused emotions between Becky and Lilith. The island, the river, and the soft, thatched ground beneath our feet were in themselves restful things and instead of running from them, I now embraced them. Even the Muppet trees did not worry me, though I was not fool enough to approach them. About us, they were silent and still; their floppy leaves seemed dulled in the diminishing light of the pendulum moon, for it was clearly on its upward swing, and as it rose, its light became weaker. Fall had come fast to Wormwood and the colorful shag of the murderous Muppet trees looked as if they had been dipped in saltwater and then left like an abandoned car in a hot sun, so wilted and so rusty did they look they barely appeared to be trees at all. They had all the look of a forlorn, forgotten heap of sackcloth that I almost forgave the tree that attacked me, almost, but not quite, for all of me felt fine but for my left hand. It burned like fire, and while the barb that had penetrated it had not left a mark as far as I could see, I wondered if there was some undetected poison in there that Adam had missed.
Becky held that sorry hand as we went and hers felt warm and dry in mine, and I felt happy beside her and because of her, I ignored the throbbing pain it was causing me.
Lincoln rushed about us in a dog’s typical zigzag pattern of sniffing and nose-poking. He was into everything. Any rustle in the bushes or any scuttle upon the ground seemed to interest him. He raced about us like a mad thing, so intent was he he barely noticed us. Like me, he knew well enough to keep away from the Muppet trees, giving them a wide berth in his endeavor to chase the little creatures that hid in the great Lavender-like bushes that grew in patchwork regularity along the beachhead. This bush had a high-topped flowery stem that indeed smelled of lavender and so perhaps that’s what it was. And Lincoln, intent on his chase of whatever little thing he found there dove recklessly in amongst this lavender. Their waving, flowery tops easily exposed his presence.
Lincoln held, I reflected, a bizarre position within the realm of Universal Celestials; for in Heaven, Hell, or anywhere else that may or may not be out there, he remained to me, an ordinary dog. And I shook my head in the wonder of it as he romped carelessly in the bushes about us. Continue reading →
Spin doctor and Oscar-nominated* actor Matthew Hooton has added his own apology (well, sorta-kinda) to those of the 
