I AM GUARDIAN
'The alpha, the omega, the genesis' - Is that you, Gerald? Stop monologuing!
Once upon a time, in a land far far away (maybe, if you live in Australia) called Lenahepoking, a very, very special home took root. Before the bare feet of the two-legged walkers trod the forest paths. Before they decamped for peaceful haunts in the wake of the shod walkers. Before any of the walkers, your kind, were created, millennia before you were born. I was planted as a guardian of ALL. All the plants, animals, insects, walkers, flyers; of ALL. My roots are without end. I am genesis.
I am respawned and conveyed abroad by the wind, the insects, the flyers, and the mammals in the scat, spittle, and spawn of my host and it- - “Oh my suns and moons, what are you going on about Gerald?!” croaked Viktor, king of the vultures roosting in my barren branches, disgustedly. “I am the alpha, the omega, and the genesis?! Did you miss your therapy appointment with the mother-of-all (aka Mallory) this day? Your dicey delusions keep us in stitches, but I’m worried about you man.” “Harrumph", I say in protest, “It’s true, you know. Just because you, Vidal, Virgil, Violet, and the rest of your ilk don’t believe me, doesn’t mean it’s not true.” A chorus of chipmunks chime in with their childish, chipper voices, “We believe you G-G-G-Gerald. W-w-w-we’re here for you.” The squeamish squirrel, Salali, heaves the tiniest of burps and shrugs before running, off into the bracken, not yet ready to commit.
Viktor continues, “Why don’t you enjoy the moment? Why don’t you leave your dreams of the past behind? Why do you need to be more than the best perch and nesting site in all the land?” I heave a deep, deeper breath, pondering for a few seconds before exhaling for several seconds with a thin, gray stream of smoke. “I can’t very well deny my own existence, my purpose, my path can I? I want my acolytes to tuig, to know, to understand. There is hope in the world because we guardians abound, waiting to emerge in protection of life as we know it.” Viktor and his entourage laugh raucously and fly off to soar on the thermals special to this realm.
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Gerald’s fierce, fiery, golden eyes close to rest. Immersed within the trunk of the tallest, broadest, most majestic white oak in the realm Gerald is limited to miniscule movements of only his massive snout and eyes, but he enjoys a veritable cauldron of emotional theatre which pours from his eyes like molten gold. It’s from here that he speaks his heart to the creatures who unknowingly depend upon him for their very existence. He begins to nod off, comfortable in his oaken haven when…
Tap tap tap. My eyes roll behind my sealed lids. Tap tap. Tap tap tap. “Oh Ger-ald. Halloo dear. Today’s the crescent moon you know. Time for our little talky-poo.” comes a sing-songy voice with a slightly hoity toity accent. “Oh, what in the fiery inferno of my dragon ancestors, Mallory?!”, bellows Gerald. “I don’t need therapy! And, besides, ducks - even those with the title ‘mother-of-all’ - aren’t therapists. Stop listening to those vicious vultures!” “Come now Gerald, we have tete a tete every crescent moon. Don’t be boring, and stodgy. I think you enjoy this as much as I do.” “Have you lost your tail feathers, you floating monologue?! Begone with you. I want no part of you today!” Mallory waddles off with a huff ‘toodlelooing’ as she waves a wing in silent good riddance. “Ahhhhhhhhhh” exhales Gerald. “Alone at last and the happier for it. It’s time for my nap.” Gerald wrinkles and squishes his great snout around then, closing his tired eyes, he drifts off to dreamland…
. . .
. . . . .
Thunder shakes the ground with an enormous blast, like boulders rolling from the great cliffs of yore. Within moments lightening strikes setting the night sky ablaze with white-hot flashes that drive like ancient swords into the ground with a force beyond what this land has seen in eons. Wind lifts the earth, tearing trees out by the roots and tossing them up into the whirling dervishes bedeviling the realm. Rain, like the great falls of the southern lands, cascades in waves obliterating sight and lashing the ground flat. The torrent continues for days, and nights, and days, and nights ad infinitum until the plains surrounding the great white oak can no longer swallow the drink from the gods and the ground begins to fill with water. How then, will Gerald and his acolytes fair this time?
“Geraaaald! Geraaaald! Wake up you daft bastard! Wake up!” squawk the vultures. They keep circling and squawking above the oak, where Gerald has been asleep for months, much much longer than ever before. Not one of the acolytes’ attempts to wake him have succeeded. Within his great branches cling the squeamish squirrel, Salali, the horde of chipmunks and all manner of other rodents. Slightly above, are ducks including Mallory, geese, raccoons, mammals, and insects. It’s a great gathering of small acolytes unable to gain higher ground quickly enough in the unending onslaught from above. It’s a picture this realm has never seen in the now, or from deep within the ancient memories of their kin.
“What in the skies and the earth is the matter?!” quacks Mallory. “Why won’t the water stop?” A cacophony of voices chime in all at once, sounding like the great rivers rushing down the mountains, loud and indiscernible. “Stop it!” screams Mallory. “One at a time. Chipmunks, what say you?” “It’s a g-g-g-great flood, we recall f-f-f-from forever ago in the Chipmunk lore. It w-w-w-washes clean the land and c-c-c-cleanses evil from the realm.” “Salali, what of your thoughts? Another shrug, and a squeaked “Wet, wetter, wettest. We concur with the munks.” “Vultures, what see you from above, now that the storms have slowed?” “ Raaawwwwk, there’s nothing as far as our very vulturey eyes can see except the tips of middle-time trees and the upper halves of those with a Gerald within. The rest have succumbed to the deluge.” “Sighing heavily with a sad shake of her head Mallory asks of the queen, who is presently swarming with drones and workers who almost completely engulf her in their protective frenzy, “Coming from further afield, what have you seen? What’s become of the realm?” “Zee realmzzz zeitgeist eez zonked. Zeer eez zeeero zzzest in zee zombieezst zone. Zeer eez zeeero zen. Pleeez help zee beeez!”
“My word, what do we make of this? We must, we MUST wake Gerald! Dicey delusions aside, he’ll certainly have some inkling of what might come next.” Again a chorus of responses, this time in unison. “But how do we wake a sleeping dragon?!” Violet, generally shy, shrinking, and reticent, whispers ““VADS” “What on earth are you whispering for? Shout it out, Violet. “Raaawwwwk, VADS”, squawks Violet. The acolytes begin grumbling and shouting in unison again, and again Mallory shouts “Quiet! What do you mean Violet?” “Violently Accost Dragon’s Snouts”, she squawks out. “Oh”, quacks Mallory. “I see. Well, then. let’s get to it.“
“Salali, take the squirrels and climb down the trunk to below Gerald’s snout. Now, now not too close to the water. That’s it, form a squirrel chain below Gerald’s face. Geese, get ready to alight upon the surface. There, there don’t panic the squirrels will hold you in place while you make a landing pillow. Raccoons, to the pillow. This is your bailiwick. Stand on your little legs and violently, and in concert mind you, punch Gerald in the snout until he wakes, then skyper off back up the tree. Yes, you heard me right. Must I repeat myself?! No, ok. Here we go - places everyone - aaaaand go!!!”
In the blink of an eye, the geese alight upon the water grasped in place by the squirrels. With lightening speed, holding hands the six racoons leap from the tree landing on the goose pillow with a swoosh, hop onto their hind legs and, reaching up begin bashing Gerald’s snout with all their collective might. The remaining acolytes look on in awe and shout “Go Go Go Go Go!” until Gerald’s eyes burst open and the mightiest roar ever witnessed in the realm blasts from his chest vibrating the tree with a force that has the acolytes scrambling for purchase. As his deafening roar subsides, echoing roars ring out from across the surrounding flood-filled plain, ending in painful ringing in the acolytes sound senses.
My senses are tingling. My head pounds and my snout hurts, thinks Gerald. “What in the almighty wind and wonder is happening?!”, bellows Gerald. The acolytes quiver in fear. “SPEAK you wretched dependents!” he bellows again. The chipmunks, being his biggest fans, squeak a greeting and quick explanation. “Y-y-y-your greatness. W-w-w-we’ve been flooded, awash w-w-w-with rain for time without end. Y-y-y-you’ve slept through t-t-t-ten moon cycles.” Alas, my wits center themselves. “STOP!” My eyes are open and my gaze is fierce. “What’s happened upon the plain? Look at them, acolytes sheltering in the limbs of guardians as far as my tired eyes can see. It’s time, I tell you. It’s time. Waterfowl, gather round about my girth. Give float to the others. Smaller folk, rest upon the vultures’ backs. There’s not but the bark of my vestment to remove and we’re off.” Viktor shouts “Halt! He’s not in his right mind to dole out orders. The delusions are sore upon him. He’s confused and confounded by his own eyes.”
“I’m not demented, you vicious tormentor! Look around you, in the distance. This, this is that about which I’ve spoken for eons. The realm is reborn of water. Cleansed of all manner of treachery and set to begin anew. Hold fast as I’ve ordered. Alas, I and my brethren break free of our prison to bring succor to the acolytes of the realm.” With the roar of an earth break, Gerald and the yonder half-submerged trees bellow in concert with a great din to break the air. Lightening cracks, the earth trembles, and a mighty creaking rents the plain. The water rocks, mighty waves sending the acolytes rolling upon the waves like leaves tossed upon the air. Holding fast to each other the acolytes shriek in terror as the great oak splits from Gerald’s snout down and down still until the moss-ridden trunk breaks from his collar to below the surface of the great plain. With a rocking thrust he pushes through, his mighty snout morphing into a head as big as a mountain and a massive, thick, powerful body revealing itself to be so humongous the acolytes are lifted into the sky on limbs now emerged as horns upon Gerald’s great head.
As the waves, littered with bark like so much flotsam, subside there and about stand a veritable army of thick, fierce, terribly powerful dragon-kind proud and ready to carry the acolytes to safety upon dry ground. The dry ground emerges slowly but certainly as the water is sucked through the root caves left behind by the forest dragons in the wake of their transformation. The vultures flutter about in agitation and awe, squawking “You daft, delusional, beautiful bastard! You told us and we wouldn’t listen. We’re beholden to your kind, forever and always. For the next eon, our ancient memories will sing of your powerful benevolence, imprinting this day among the survival messages for future generations. All hail Gerald! Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah.” “You’re too kind”, says Gerald wryly.
In the aftermath of the flood, the acolytes rebuilt their lives, surrounded by dragons of muscle, bone, sinew, and moss-covered hide. Without wings, they trod the land as monitors of the small ones, omnipresent for millions of years until the next great birth of the white oak trees began the cycle anew.
I’d planned to write about the magnificent old white oak tree in my back yard this weekend. What happened instead was a mash up of the majesty of this tree with a wingless dragon named Gerald, in the second of three dragon tails for
’s Dragon-Month. The tree, pictured below, is 13.5 feet around and stands almost 70 feet tall at an approximate age of 258 years. The stories this tree could tell would rival the nonsense I dreamt up above. It would have taken root in 1767 just after the Iroquois Native American tribe’s sale of land to colonists in the Albany Purchase of 1754. That’s history.
Don’t miss your chance to one-up your crowd by being the first to share Gerald with family, friends, and frenemies alike.
Don’t be shy. Bring your class act to the table in the comments and we’ll make you sorry you were born. Oh, sorry, I meant we’ll engage in meaningful dialogue.
Cori, this was fabulously creative, I so enjoyed reading it. I think it had to have been this way. I love Christopher’s art!! Such a marvelous collaboration, he is quite talented! I’ll have to check out his other work. How cool is your oak tree!!! I love the thought of it just taking root and growing right alongside the US. That picture with the branches outspread is amazing, I bet the canopy is stunning when it’s in full leaf.
Wonderfully imaginative! That’s probably exactly what happened!!