Stream of Consciousness: Test 3
All four fly solo and my brain is quarters for each one. Each one glides differently, each senses a left or right of the rush. I can angle the shimmer from my wings, understanding each and every direction the wind dares blow as both I and the rain glitter, liquid and air bouncing off and away from different stalks, different petals, different leaves and I’m smart enough to figure out a direction through them all before sundown.
To call me a dragon is not foolhardy. We are the elegant predators; I prey upon living beasts, just like me, but things that are smaller than me. I am a bully and a tyrant, and I am a lifesaver. I will hunt that which only pollinates and helps grow the world. But I will also eat the things that create rot, create infestation, and I consume and destroy those which infect the bigger, clumsier creatures who usually fail to catch me in nets or hands or paws.
Yet, one day, I know that either they, or the last of the summer winds, will mark the end.
I am blue. I was born blue; my mother and father were blue and died not long after I hatched and learned about weight of the riverside grass, the coarseness of the wild wheats in the spring and about the skin of water which only we will ever know how to dance on.