I have spoken of the dragons before. More than once, in fact. My first encounter with a reference to the Long Wang was in my roaring twenties and I was looking up the names of various deities in various cultures, because, really, what else are you going to do on Thursday afternoon at some telecorp where one's a spin doctor propagandist for money? The description I read was the Lords of Rain and Funerals. Being in my roaring twenties, interested in the far, far east, and perhaps a little too impressed with my own intelligence, I was, quite naturally intrigued.
Deities? That are dragons? I saw nothing wrong with this formula.
Afterward, in a a classic example of Confirmation Bias, I started to see Chinese dragons in mist and cumulonimbus clouds. I've gone as far as to call them dragon clouds just because. Sometimes, I think of it sort of like the film Excalibur and Merlin's dragon. I've never felt bad about perceiving the dragons the way I do. It's not as though I expect them to answer my prayers, because, after all, I only prey in context of the food chain.
We were over at a neighbor's after a walkabout reading the bible and drinking lemonade. Seriously and stop fucking snickering. We'd already shared some white chilling in a snowbank. I had been sent back to the house to retrieve something when I noticed a certain type of cloud rearing over Leavenworth Mountain. Showing back up at the neighbor's, I wore the most wicked grin of joy.
"They're back," I told Sabina.
"Who?" She asked me.
"The dragons," I replied and she smirked.
"Dragons?" My neighbor seemed a little confused, and I had to tell him a tale, the one I just told you.
Seeing the dragons is one of those omens of warmer weather. It already seems to be the beginnings of High Country spring here, ready or not. Every day, there appears to be a new omen of the spinning of the cyclic wheel. The mud-slicked streets. Bits of yard begin to peek out from under the deep drifts, boggy in its countenance. The river flows freely. That sort of subtle humidity, which comes with the thawing and constant daytime melting of snow permeates the thin mountain air.
It is, indeed, mud season, and those official notations, the equinox and our annual Cabin Fever Dance, are just aspects of window-dressing for those who need to be spoon-fed everything...
We look to go snowshoeing around Nederland in a day, hosted by a friend I've not seen and scarcely communicated with in a bit. A walkabout in territory we're not as familiar with, which is the spice of high adventure. There's supposed to be a fresh dusting, which, if true to the season, will be assimilated and half-melted by the time the sun climbs to mid-sky. It should be mostly clear, but I cannot help but wonder if I might see some of the first dragons slithering across the sky, watching, preparing to bring the rains.