Spirits....

Last night, as they do often now, in the cold hours before dawn, two spirits steal through our open bedroom window. Silently, like smoke, they drift over and settle with me on the bed, one on each side. Red, sleeping gently and warmly and conscience-free beside me, doesn't even stir, her sweet breath ebbing and flowing like celestial tides.

One wrathful spirit, the Spirit of The South, the Spirit of Tierra Del Fuego, her eyes filled with raging sea mist, whispers to me..... "When are you coming, you cowardly Gringo, you white eye with the silly machine? The bones of better men than you roll in my deep straits and bleach in my high mountain passes! Much better men than you! Come! Come if you dare, Gringo! The white ships are just over the horizon...they are coming for you. Hurry, hurry to me before it's too late!"

The other spirit, more gentle but even more terrible, spindrift snow swirling in her ice blue eyes, is The Spirit Of The East, The Spirit of Chomolungma, Goddess Mother of The Earth...... "When are you coming, you poor little man with the silly machine? You cannot climb me; you are too weak and too old and too meaningless.... but you could ride your machine to me, and worship prostrate at my feet like so many others, like all the others. The bones of better men than you lie buried deep in my endless snowdrifts! Much better men than you! Come! Come if you dare, Little Man! The white ships are just over the horizon...they are coming for you. Hurry, hurry to me before it's too late!"

Just at dawn, the red sun floods and warms the room, and Red stirs and nestles closer....and the spirits steal away.... they only like the cold hours before dawn. Whenever Red is awake and smiling, they never show....but they will come back, night after night..... calling me..... calling for me....