I sit at my old Winnibego and feel the sea breeze soft against my face. I watch the frigate birds shadow the Pelicans and I watch the dragon at the end of the garden.
It hasn’t always been there, sometimes I see it at home in the limbs of the oak tree. This time it showed up after the full moon and is aching to escape from its heap of garden debris. The next bonfire will release it into the universe in a shower of embers and ash.
I know it will show up again, my constant companion, spawn of my imagination.